


A Pastiche Heart

by WhittyOne



Series: Pastiche Series [1]
Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, NSFW, Romance, Shameless Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 120,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2067867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhittyOne/pseuds/WhittyOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Avid sea shell seekers know, some days, they’ll come away with nothing but a lesson in patience & perseverance. Other days, their faith will be rewarded with more than they’d ever hoped for” - unknown</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s not that I don’t believe that happiness can or will come into my life. Having faith that it will stick around, now that is something else entirely.

Doctors had always told my parents that children weren’t possible. The near-crippling endometriosis hit my mom at seventeen, back in the days of, “We all have our monthly woes, dear, so wash your face and fix your hair and take it like a lady.” She did, and by the time any sort of understandable information was presented to her, she and Daddy were already years into a fairly happy marriage. He’d done the only thing a Michigan farm boy who didn’t want to stay a Michigan farm boy could do: joined the military. So, after that sunny morning in a cold flight surgeon’s office, they shook off their sadness and threw themselves into a life lived for each other. He took every transfer they offered him, and they toured the world from a C-130: England, Spain, Iceland, Germany, Japan. Too practical to even consider making a living at painting or sculpting, she poured her artistic talent into a cosmetology license, and found her joy in beautifying unit secretaries and general’s wives. 

Then, at 42, another chilly metal exam table. My mother was told that, against all odds, two eggs had found their way down the jagged and presumed useless landscape and were now embedded and growing nicely. Stateside by then, she and Daddy dealt with the surprise by throwing off the shackles of air base housing and buying a three bedroom cottage not far from the sleepy North Carolina coast. They were both in bib overalls, hanging wallpaper and discussing how long their offspring should be housed in the same room when the cramping hit. Twenty-two hours and a heaping dose of placental insufficiency later, I became an only child.

If they ever saw the ghost of that lost sibling when they looked at me, I never knew it. My childhood was the perfect mixture of indulgence and discipline, and I never once doubted how loved I was. Dad was a chief by then, and was able to extend his assignment again and again, so I didn’t have the bounced-around detachment of your typical military brat. Mom nurtured the creativity she’d embedded in my genes with delight: singing lessons, dance classes, creative writing workshops. But she never let me forget that the man who lives for his dreams can still die from an empty stomach; so, of course, after graduating high school, I headed to Chapel Hill to study journalism and mass communication. Junior editor of The Daily Tar Heel, I had my first contributing piece published in the Herald Sun two weeks before my twenty-first birthday. Mom was so proud; she taped that chunk of newsprint to the vanity mirror in front of her chair so that every customer she crimped and coiffed would see it. It was a little faded when we took it down three months later, and I was worried it would tear, but dad insisted she wouldn’t mind, that she would want it with her. I tucked it into the sleeve of her favorite silk dress before we closed the coffin. It was a STEMI, the so-called widowmaker of heart attacks. She was 63.

Life went on. She would have wanted it that way.

I met someone, a tech savvy sports writer from Durham with spiky black hair and an incessant teasing nature. Not my first, but the first who was patient enough to navigate the biological discomforts I’d inherited from Mom as well. Dad liked him, he liked Dad, and watching them banter over basketball and hockey and what made real barbeque REAL barbeque helped me see that Dad was healing, too. Two years that couldn’t have gone better if I’d scripted them with my own pen, and I chalked up the occasional increase in cramping and heavier monthly flow as a side effect of my delightfully and increasingly vigorous sex life. Dad beamed at graduation, the Blue Devil sat proud and defiant in the colors of his own alma mater. Dad gave me a Nikon FM 10 with a full lens kit; the Blue Devil gave me a ring.

Dad was on his first deep sea fishing trip of retirement, I was in my cubicle trying to multitask my latest work about the state of elementary school education and planning a brief honeymoon in Seychelles. The pain had been dull and nagging for days, but on this particular morning, it bit with teeth of fire and held on with jaws of iron. I remember shaking the pills into my palm and rising to refill my cup from the water cooler. And then I was opening my eyes to dim light and hushed voices. My throat was on fire but my abdomen was blessedly silent. Morphine drips just have that effect, I guess. The adenoma was benign, but had ruptured the muscle wall. So the uterus was gone, but I got to keep my ovaries. The Blue Devil was gone soon, too, but he let me keep the ring.

I tend to think of the next years as The Decade of Nothing Special. I grew from staff to freelance, using the Nikon to give depth to my work when I felt the writing came up short. Dad fished and golfed himself into a mad case of what I call “retirementingitis” until the course managers offered him a job in the pro shop. He talked balls and clubs and terra types until he was blue in the face, even served as ranger for a few tournaments. He met Tom Watson and Tiger Woods. On good days, he remembers it all.

It started small. Misplaced keys, missing glasses, forgotten appointments. After a few months, he was forgetting the turns to take to get to work. A few more months, he was forgetting to go to work entirely. It was okay, he and mom had always been conservative with their money and wise with their financial planning. It wasn’t hard to convince him that, at 71, he’d worked enough. I stayed in my old room as we established new routines, forged new understandings with long-loved neighbors, started some medications. A course cashier in nursing school with her eye on a career in home health started visiting daily because, really, it was as helpful to her as it was to us. I was reluctant to return to my life a hundred miles away but daddy insisted.

The phone call was jarring, angry shouting and things breaking in the background. I made the drive in my pajamas. I was greeted in the driveway by the woman from next door, and I thought briefly of the summer they’d completed their swimming pool. Her daughter and I spent the entire month of July with wet hair and lobster red skin. Dad was inside with her husband and their big, friendly golden retriever. The dog wagged his tail when he saw me but never lifted his head from my father’s knee. Daddy’s eyes were red and wet but clear and hopeful when they met mine, and his smile was full of relief. “Ruthie, thank God you’re here!”

Ruth was my mother. My name is Michelle. 

The now-nursing school graduate hired on with an excellent agency, we were her first official clients. She pulls days Monday through Friday, and is usually there Saturday and Sunday, too. Mostly because she adores my dad, but I think she’s got a little something going on with the guy who pulls the weekend shift, too. It’s cute. There are night shifters as well, who prep food for the next day and clean the house and watch TV while dad sleeps in the bed he shared with my mom, and the neighbors are in and out all the time. The doctors are pleased; they think they’ve finally found the right medication cocktail, and that keeping him in the home he’s known for the last thirty-something years has helped immeasurably. The lawyer and the accountant came highly recommended, and I respect them immensely, and the trusts are all secure. It’s hard to visit, because it can make a good day bad and a bad day worse, but Dad and I are great on the phone. The docs say it’s probably because that’s how we were when it started, a happy, independent man and his happy, independent daughter. I miss him, but I don’t want to take that away from him.

It’s not that I don’t believe that happiness can or will come into my life. Having faith that it will stick around, now that is something else entirely.


	2. Chapter 2

“You know, every time I see you you’ve got that damn thing pointed in the wrong direction,” Russell’s voice was amused as he flopped down into the chair next to mine. “The action’s over there.”

I snorted as I adjusted the lens of my beloved Nikon on the cluster of taxi drivers that stood bantering next to a line of mustard hued cars. “There’s at least fifty lenses pointed over there,” I mused as I clicked the shutter. “I doubt one less is going to make a world of difference.”

“Jesus, Chelle,” he lifted his Yankee’s baseball cap just long enough to rake his hand through his mop of brown hair, “why do you work these things if you hate them so much?”

Letting my camera fall against my chest, I leaned back and sighed, turning my gaze to the crowded gauntlet that was supposed to be the focus of the afternoon. “I never said I hated them.”

The New York Independent Film Festival’s opening ceremony was preparing to play out in the building beside us. The writer’s block I had been experiencing for months had forced me out of my editorial comfort zone and into more straightforward reporting. Not that entertainment reporting requires any less talent or skill, but it’s a lot easier to find subject matter, and sometimes, things just write themselves. Truth was that I had found a kind of comfort in trading the freedom of freelance for the structure of assignment writing. I didn’t have to plumb the depths of my brain or heart to give my audience what they would be looking for; I could find the hiding place I needed while giving them the escape they desired.

Russell’s scoff pulled me out of my thoughts. “Yeah, you’re just dripping with enthusiasm.” His sneer was not entirely unkind as he tucked a cigarette into the corner of his mouth, but I scowled all the same.

“I didn’t sleep last night, and you can’t smoke that here.” I pointed to the sign mounted a few feet away.

“What? We’re outside in New York City for Christ’s sake…” His grumbling was interrupted by a sudden swell in the cacophony from the assembled fans at the barricade, and I straightened a bit in my seat. “Who is it?” He craned his neck. “You know it’s an actor, they don’t scream like that for the directors.” I smiled wryly and nodded, rising to see if I could get a better look. I didn’t regret doing so. 

He was tall and lithe, ginger curls catching the late afternoon sun. Broad shoulders under crisp sky blue linen, long legs in perfectly tailored black trousers. His presence was expected to be one of the main draws for this event, and it was a big reason why I’d chosen this assignment over others. I knew I wouldn’t have any direct contact with him; I wasn’t even registered to attend his panel. But the chance to see him with my own eyes, even from a distance, had held heart-fluttering  
appeal.

“Why don’t you take a picture,” Russell goaded. “It’ll last longer.”

I ignored him, crossing the pavement to the edge of the press pit. There was no chance I’d be able to push my way to the front barricade, and in truth, I didn’t want to. Just a little more proximity was all I wanted, maybe the chance to hear him speak. His name rose and fell on the tide of girlish squeals from the crowd, “Tom! Tom! Tom!”, and the corners of his eyes and mouth crinkled adorably as he strode over to indulge. I watched in admiring fascination as he signed pictures and snapped photos, the embodiment of gracious magnanimity. More than once his ebullient chuckle carried on the autumn breeze before firm prompting from his handlers urged him on his way. Graceful hands waved and blew kisses and he was gone, leaving a wake of swooning groans behind him. Russell’s shoulder bumping mine made me jump and I exhaled in a whoosh. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath. “So that’s why you took this job.” The unlit cigarette still dangled  
from his lips; I plucked it loose and broke it in half with a smirk.

“Shut up.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * 

October nights in New York can be bitterly cold, but this one was shaping up to be quite lovely. The temperature hung in the mid fifties and the breeze was just strong enough to lift the sound of the falling leaves above the buzz of the traffic and the hum of the streetlights. I leaned against the balustrade, looking up at the sky. The recorder in my pocket was full of the notes I’d need to complete my piece on the festival’s opening day, and my head was still full of the film I’d taken in as way to round out the evening before cabbing back to the hotel. Waking up my cellular, I tapped out a text to my tardy colleague: _Two more minutes and I’m leaving without you._

“It was much funnier than I expected.”

The crisp British accent made my head jerk up, the sight of its owner dropped my jaw to the floor. I must have looked like a beached fish, my maw agape as I glanced around, certain he couldn’t have been speaking to me. But there was no one else standing on the concrete staircase that descended the front of the building, no one else in the vestibule behind him. His expression was one of kind amusement as I tried to gather my composure. “I’m sorry?” I finally managed, a slight tremor in my voice.

“The movie,” he grinned. “You just came out of _Raven’s Wrath_ , yes?” I nodded mutely. “So did I. It was much funnier than I expected.”

I nodded again, my sluggish brain waking up to the reality of the foolish visage I was presenting. “Yeah... uh, yes!” _Snap out of it, stupid!_ “It was. Really funny.”

He leaned a bit closer, speaking conspiratorially through a tight, sheepish grin. “I technically wasn’t supposed to be in there, but I hadn’t snuck into the cinema since I was fourteen and I just thought, hey, what the hell?”

I returned the grin with a nervous laugh. “Technically speaking,” I cleared my throat, “I wasn’t supposed to be in there either.”

His eyes lit up. “Ah! A fellow delinquent! I had a feeling…”

I blanched at the comment. “I beg your pardon?”

“You haven’t been anywhere you were supposed to be today,” he quipped cutely. “All the way at the back of crowd at the entrance, sitting in the press box of the opening presentation instead of the gallery...” He must have read the confusion on my face because he reached over and tapped the camera that hung around my neck. “A photographer who doesn’t take photographs,” he mused. “How does one get away with that?”

“Oh!” I could feel my face flushing. “I’m not a photographer. I’m a writer.” His eyebrows lifted in sudden understanding. “I’m not here to take pictures; I’m just covering the festival for _Vanity Fair_.” He rocked back a bit on his heels. “You know, broad perspective stuff, the comings and goings. This,” I gestured to the camera, “this is just a hobby. It helps sometimes, you know, with the writing. Not all of the time, but sometimes…” I was babbling and I knew it, but I couldn’t stop myself. I could tell he understood the effect he was having on me, and that he was delighted by it. My cell phone buzzed suddenly, and I thanked the gods for the diversion. “Excuse me,” I stammered as I glanced down at the screen.

 _Coming. Leave without me and you can find a new Marc Jacobs connection._ Dammit, Russell.

“Everything all right?” Tom asked, that infernal right eyebrow rising in concern.

“Oh! Yeah,” I waved my hand dismissively. “It’s nothing.”

“Mmm,” he hummed absently. “So,” the teasing grin was back. “You don’t sound like you’re from New York.”

“Neither do you.” He threw his head back and laughed, and I managed to unhinge my stiff shoulders a notch. “But, no, I live in North Carolina.”

“Oh! I hear it’s absolutely beautiful down there!” I nodded enthusiastically until his expression dropped a bit. “But I guess that means you’re probably not the one I should ask if I’m hoping to get proper New York Italian.”

I shrugged ruefully. “I can recommend all the tourist haunts,” I confirmed. “But if you’re looking for the word of a local then, yes, I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere.”

“That’s a shame,” his voice dropped in pitch, making my knees feel a bit watery. “You’re so lovely to look at.” He extended his arm. “I’m Tom, by the way.”

I was about to offer my own name when those long, graceful fingers closed over mine, sending a jolt of sensation through me unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Warmth and strength and power and electricity, it stole the air from my lungs. His gaze was unashamed and unwavering, his eyes shining blue green under the iridescent glow of the marquee. I couldn’t move to shake his hand, only held it, savoring the connection, losing myself in his presence. He didn’t seem to mind, even  
took a step closer, forcing me to lift my chin to keep my eyes on his.

As he opened his mouth, the heavy glass door behind him swung open, and my accursed colleague blustered through. “Okay, Chelle, I’m here, you can untwist your panties…” Russell stopped just shy of bowling me over as he shoved his arms into his overcoat, but Tom didn’t let go of my hand. “Oh, excuse me,” he oozed. “Sorry to interrupt.”

 _Not as sorry as you’re going to be_ , I fumed inwardly. “No, it’s… it’s okay.” I reluctantly pulled my fingers from Tom’s gentle grasp. “Tom Hiddleston, this is my friend Russell. Russell McKenzie,” I demurred.

Tom kept his focus on me a beat longer before turning. “Russell McKenzie… the fashion writer?”

Russ’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, that’s me…”

“Hey!” Tom shook his hand heartily and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve worked a lot with Natalie from Elle UK… she reads you all the time.” I watched, amused, as my associate laughed giddily at the recognition. And then Tom was turning to me once more. “And you’re… I’m sorry, Shell? Like… a seashell?

“Oh, god, no,” I blushed furiously. “It’s Chelle, some people call me Chelle…” I sighed in exasperated embarrassment. “It’s short for Michelle. My name… Michelle O’Shea.”

“Michelle,” I shivered as the word rolled off his tongue, unable to look away from his supple lips. “A pleasure to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” I breathed, “really.”

The moment swelled with tension before he squared his shoulders; I could actually feel the disengagement when he let me go. It hollowed out my chest, and I had to draw in a shuddering breath to keep myself on my feet. In the meantime, the two gentlemen bantered briefly, the sound of their voices droning in my ears that were struck too dumb to distinguish the words. After a moment, I felt Russell’s hand on my elbow, pressing lightly on the nerve. I flinched a little, goggling a bit at his urgent expression. “Doesn’t it, Chelle?” 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Tom here,” he gestured towards the other man, who was still watching me with barely disguised amusement, “invited us to sit in on his panel tomorrow. Doesn’t that sound great?”

“Wow.” My tongue felt like lead in my mouth. “Yes… that… thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.” His smile was dazzling and I felt myself going under once more, until Russell’s enthusiastic interest reclaimed his attention. After a moment, the doors behind us swung open again. Several people emerged in a crowd, among them two severe-looking gentlemen who appeared quite relieved when Tom waved an arm to draw their attention. “I’m so sorry,” he grinned ruefully, “I have to go. I truly hope to see you tomorrow.” He shook Russell’s hand before reaching for mine. “Both of you.” His index finger stroked lightly along the inside of my wrist and my knees nearly buckled beneath me. Another warm flash from those cerulean eyes and he was gone, swallowed by the multitude while I still battled to catch my breath.

Russell’s chortle reignited the flush in my cheeks. “What?” I queried, attempting aloofness. When his goofy grin didn’t abate, I lifted my chin a notch, tossing my ponytail as I began to descend the stairs. “Shut up.”

“He was so flirting with you,” he shuffled along a step behind me.

“He was not.” I hurried to the curb where a line of taxis waited to shuttle festival goers back to their lodgings.

“Oh, yes, he was,” Russ guffawed as I pulled open the door to one of the idling cars. “Tom Hiddleston was just flirting with you!”

“Would you…!” I gritted my teeth. “Keep your voice down,” I hissed, sliding into the backseat. He climbed in next to me and gave the driver the name of our hotel. “And he was not flirting with me,” I insisted as we merged into traffic. “He was just being polite.”

“Polite!” Russell snorted. “Polite?”

“He’s a friendly guy,” I sniffed, straightening my jacket and gazing purposefully out the window. “Everybody knows that.”

“Oh, my god,” Russ broke into a full belly laugh. “Tom Hiddleston was hitting on you and you damn well know it!”

“Oh, so he was hitting on me now?” I sneered. “I thought he was just flirting.”

“You know what I mean, Chelle.” Russ fumbled his cigarettes from his pocket and thrust one into the corner of his mouth. “He was into you.”

“He was not into me,” I blustered, “and even if he was, how could you know that? You were only standing there for, like, thirty seconds.” I plucked the cigarette from his mouth. “And you can’t smoke that in here.”

“I stood there long enough to know I’d like to be on the receiving end of some of those looks he was shooting your way,” he snatched the smoke from my fingers and shoved it impatiently back into the pack. “Damn, Chelle, you can’t tell me you didn’t feel something!”

“Oh, I felt something,” I admitted in exasperation. “I felt my imagination running away with me, same as yours is running away with you right now.” I held up my hand to cut off whatever he was preparing to say. “Look, he’s an open, friendly guy. He has a reputation for being approachable and engaging.” I turned my attention back to the passing city night. “Let’s just leave it at that.” We bickered back and forth the rest of the drive; by the time I closed the door to my room, my nerves were a jangling mess. I sat down at my laptop and pulled out my recorder to map out a draft of my article, but all I could see on my screen was the brilliant blue of his eyes under that teasing arch of brow. All I could hear in my head was that effervescent laughter, and the way his velvety tongue caressed the second syllable of my name. After half an hour of grappling I gave up, stripping to my underwear and yanking on a t-shirt before crawling into bed. I curled myself around the extra pillows, and my thumbnail found its way between my teeth as I stared into the darkness.

_Was he? Was Tom Hiddleston flirting with me?_


	3. Chapter 3

“Ho-ly shit,” Russell’s drawl made my shoulders tense, my cheeks burn. “Do not even try to tell me that look is not for our new friend.”

“Great,” I scowled, tugging at the sleeves of the cashmere dress I’d chosen for the day. My favorite shade of violet, the fabric hugged the curves of my chest and hips while swirling prettily about my calves. “I’m going to change.” I turned on my heel, but he caught my arm before I was halfway across the lobby.

“Whoa, whoa, Chelle, hold on.” He turned me to face him, his smile broad and kind. “You look gorgeous.”

I caught sight of my reflection in the elevator doors, feeling depressingly foolish: the dress, the leather boots, my hair tumbling down my back instead of plaited like usual. “I look like I’m trying too hard,” I muttered.

“Only to me,” Russell laughed gently. “And that’s only because I’m used to the faded jeans and the too-big sweaters.” He gestured to my outfit. “I couldn’t have dressed you better myself, if you’d let me. You’re going to fit right in.” I chewed on my lower lip, and his hand came to rest on my shoulder. “Chelle, it’s okay to try and make yourself attractive to someone you’re attracted to,” I rolled my eyes but he tugged firmly on my arm. “And it’s okay to be attracted to someone.” He ducked his head to meet my gaze. “Really, it is.”

I took a shuddering breath and pushed the fringe of my bangs back with a sigh. “It’s not like I’m going to see him again anyway.”

“We will see him again.” Russell assured me. “We’ll go to his panel and he’ll wave and smile and be his dashingly charming self. And when we get bored with all the talk of production and motivation and cinematic symbolism, we’ll try to figure out if he’s gone commando today or not.”

I punched his shoulder, my face aflame. “Fine, let me clarify: it’s not like he’s going to see me again.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he looked down his nose at me. “What I saw last night… I have a feeling he might be keeping an eye out.”

The tiniest flicker of hope sparked in my belly. “Tons of beautiful, talented, out-going women crawling all over the place,” I mumbled. “He wouldn’t even remember my name.”

Russell wound his arm around me, leading me toward the hotel restaurant. “He’ll remember your name.”

“This is so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” he insisted, pulling his Marlboros from his pocket.

“Oh, my god,” I elbowed his ribs. 

“What the fuck are you, the tobacco police?” He snarled, dropping the pack back into his pocket. “Shut up!”

We shared a quick breakfast with a few associates from the AP before catching our rides back to the conference center. Russ met up with his longtime collaborator at the main entrance, a brilliant and widely respected photographer name Ki. Her dark eyes lit up when she saw me, and the camera slung around my neck. We shared a hug and spent a moment comparing equipment before Russ interrupted and began directing her to the shots he wanted. She snapped pictures of the stars and the directors and producers. I snuck shots of her, and Russ, and the PA’s flocking from station to station, trying to corral their assigned persons. I forced myself to focus on what was in front of me, not allowing my eyes to scan the crowd for ginger curls. I had the necessary conversations with the festival organizers, recorded a few quotes from the present filmmakers, even had the presence of mind to dictate an introduction before the crowd began to disperse into the building. No sign of Tom, and I sighed heavily.

“No big deal,” Russ reassured me, leading me through the vestibule to our first destination. “His panel’s at two… you’ll see him then.”

“What?” I affected confusion. “Oh, that… I hadn’t even… I wasn’t looking…”

“Yes, you were,” he murmured, wrapping his arm around me. “You were looking.”  
I somehow managed to lose myself in the business at hand, taking notes and eventually typing out the framework of the article in an email to myself on my phone. I watched Ki as she aimed her lens, whispering questions of how and why that she answered gladly, if a bit absently, and tittered with her at Russell’s cattier remarks about some of the attendees’ choice of attire. We sat together in the press commissary for lunch, my fingers tapping anxiously on the table while they snickered at my impatience. Finally, at ten minutes to two, we flashed our ID’s and were filed into the press box of convention hall C, three rows back from the stage. There were four chairs assembled in the center, two for the stars and one for the director, and I tried not to fidget in my own while waiting. Finally, the moderator took her seat, and the house lights dimmed as she called the others to take their places. 

The director came first, a scruffy little man named Justin who looked as though he belonged behind a library desk, not a movie camera. Next was Christine, the wispy blonde actress who smiled and waved with gracious aplomb as she floated to her seat. Finally, the last introduction was made, and the auditorium erupted in cheers as Tom made his way to the final spot, long legs eating up the distance as he blew kisses and pressed his hand to his chest in a gesture of gratitude. He shared a handshake/one-armed hug combo with Justin and pressed a kiss to Christine’s cheek before folding himself into his chair. I told myself, as his gaze scanned the crowd, that he was just taking in the scene. But when it seemed that his eyes met mine, I could have sworn his smile widened a bit, and his fingers seemed to twitch on his knee in an almost imperceptible wave. I could feel my skin flushing, but I couldn’t look away.

The presentation was energetic and entertaining, and it was clear that Tom was delighted to have been a part of the project. I put my camera to use as he talked animatedly, trying to capture his graceful hands and well muscled arms as much as his face. I’d never seen the burgundy oxford he was wearing before; it highlighted his ruddy skin and auburn locks ridiculously well. And he wouldn’t have been Hiddleston without the infuriatingly well-tailored black trousers. After an hour of watching him adjust his rolled-up cuffs and stroke the beautifully defined throat exposed by his open collar, I was squirming in my seat. All the same, my heart sank a bit as the moderator directed the discussion to a close, and I rose with the rest of the crowd to applaud as the participants left the stage. Sighing, I turned and shouldered my bag before following Russell and Ki into the aisle. 

We were moving with the herd towards the exit when I heard someone calling my name. “Miss O’Shea? Miss O’Shea…” I turned to see a page wiggling his way toward me, a piece of yellow cardstock in his hand. I stepped to the wall to allow him to catch up. “Thank you,” he held the card out to me. “I was asked to make sure you got this before you left.” Russ and Ki crowded against me as I took it from him, and I thanked him as he turned to fight his way back through the throng. 

“Whatcha got?” Ki tucked her chin over my shoulder as we walked, and I lifted the card to read the embossed printing. It was an invitation to a party scheduled for that evening. “Oh, I heard about that. Sun Studios rented out that club on 24th; it sounds like it’s going to be quite the shindig.”

“Don’t drop that,” Russ warned, tapping the line that read “By invitation only”. 

I shrugged, offering it to him. “I don’t know that I’m up for a party tonight.”

He accepted it, and then exhaled a chuckle as he flipped it over. “Are you sure about that?” He held it out so that I could see there was an additional message scrawled across the back in looping handwriting. 

_“I’m so glad you accepted my invitation. Here’s hoping I’ll get lucky with a second - Tom”_

I stumbled over my own feet, much to the delight of my comrades. Ki wound an excited arm around my shoulders while Russ began to croon I-told-you-so’s, but all I could hear was my pulse pounding in my ears. Before I knew it, I was shaking my head vehemently. “No. Nope. Can’t do it.”

“Oh, you can, you will,” Russ embraced me from the other side, and I found myself dragged along between the two of them. “I am gonna dress you, Ki is gonna coach you in some of that wide-eyed flirting shit, and we are all going to go together! You are going to spend your night drinking and dancing and with a little luck, you’ll wake up sore under a whole heap of sweaty British afterglow.” 

I blanched, more amenable to the suggestion than I cared to admit. “I can dress myself,” I wriggled free from their grasp. “And the last thing I’m going to do is throw myself at him like some desperate groupie.” I dragged my fingers through my hair.

“But you are going to go…”

“And you are going to have a drink with him…”

“You have to at least try…”

“Ugh, STOP!” I yanked open my bag and shoved the invite inside. “Keep acting like jackasses and I’ll go by myself.”

The two of them fell back in stride, huddling together, pretending to whisper in conspiracy. I rolled my eyes and walked a bit quicker, wanting to stay ahead of them until I had control of the smile curling my lips.


	4. Chapter 4

My foot tapped staccato on the rung of the barstool; my fingers whisked a thin red straw through the fizzy concoction the bartender had put in front of me. I glanced at my watch, at the stretch of corridor that led to the exit. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar and sighed.

I’d nearly put a stop to the whole thing when, standing in my hotel room, staring into my open suitcases nearly sent me into a tailspin. How to look pretty but not desperate, available but not slutty… it made my stomach twist. Splashing cold water on my face in the bathroom, I stared down my reflection. “All right, listen,” my voice bounced off the tile walls. “You can do this. He invited you. He invited you. He obviously wants to see you, even if it’s just to be friendly. So get your shit together.” I stood straight and, blowing my bangs out of my eyes, headed for the shower.

I blew them back again before putting the straw between my lips and drinking deeply. I’d been so proud of myself when I emerged from the fragrant steam, moving on instinct. I’d dressed quickly, not putting too much thought into the linen trousers and silk blouse. Hair tousled, makeup on, I forced myself out the door. Ki and Russell were waiting for me on the curb, Russ filling his lugs with his beloved nicotine as I approached. “I don’t want to hear it,” he announced, stepping away to politely blow smoke into the street. I held my hands up in surrender, grinning when he tossed the butt away half used. Rolling his eyes, he threw up an arm to hail a cab. “You look great,” he grumbled.

We piled into the back of a Yellow, and I pulled the invitation from my purse. My fingers traced over the words Tom had written. Russell hugged me roughly with one arm, pressing a kiss to my temple. Ki laid her head on my other shoulder, and I tried to keep my crossed legs still as we zoomed towards our destination.

The entrance to the club was roped off with heavy velvet cords, and several of New York’s finest walked the perimeter of the waiting crowd. I held out the cardstock as we neared the entrance, and one of them escorted us to the front of the line. The door was flanked by a heavy carved out of granite and a tall, regal redhead bound in a satin bodice. I handed her my invite, and she passed a UV light over the embossing. A watermark in the shape of a blazing sun shimmered beneath it, and she gestured the “all clear” to her partner. He moved the barricade aside, and Ki and Russell stepped quickly through. I watched, disappointed, as the hostess prepared to drop my card into a stack of dozens of others. She paused when the inscription caught her eye, and she took a second to read it. Her eyebrow lifted, and her eyes rose to meet mine. Wordlessly, she offered it back, and I slipped it into my bag with a silent smile.

The party was well underway, flashing lights and throbbing, bass-heavy music, the lively murmur of a hundred conversations punctuated by frequent boisterous laughter. We exchanged toothy grins as we sidled up to the bar. Russ bought the first round, the tequila burned on its way down, and my skin tingled as I eyed the dance floor. Ki followed my gaze, and only waited for us to knock back round two before dragging me headlong into the crowd. It was bliss, moving among strangers the way you do when the beat is strong, when it synchs the pulse of everyone who twists and turns beneath its caress. I closed my eyes, lifted my arms, and for the first time all day, I didn’t even think to look for Tom. And so he found me first, coming up behind me and putting his mouth close to my ear to be heard above the din. “You can move.”

My eyes flew open and I spun to face him, feeling all grace drain out through the bottom of my feet under the weight of that cerulean stare. “Hi!” I exhaled, pushing my hair back from my face. “Thanks!”

The curls atop his head were twisting every which way, and the skin exposed by the open neck of his black linen shirt glistened with a fine layer of perspiration. He continued to shift to the rhythm of the music, and my body responded in kind. He grinned, opening his hands. “Obviously you got the invitation.”

“Obviously,” I nodded, trying to let the movement take the edge off my nerves. “Thank you again.” I tucked my hair behind my ear.

“You’re welcome.” He stepped a bit closer. “Did your companions join you here as well?”

I glanced around, expecting to find Ki just a foot or two away, but she was nowhere to be seen. I bit my lip and scanned the crowd again, to no avail. “They did,” I confirmed with an awkward flip of my hand. “They’re around here somewhere…”

A bare female arm wound around his neck and a blonde head came to rest against his shoulder, stopping my words abruptly. “Here you are,” the woman grinned, snuggling up against him.

“Hey!” Tom wrapped his own arm around her shoulders, clearly happy to see her. “Christine Voss, this is Michelle. Michelle O’Shea.” He gestured toward me. “Michelle, this is Christine.”

“Hi Michelle,” she smiled warmly and extended her hand. “It’s really nice to meet you.” Sweet, heartfelt.

 _Wonderful. I can’t even hate her._ “It’s so nice to meet you,” I wrapped my fingers around hers and shook her hand. “I haven’t seen the film yet, but I really enjoyed the panel this afternoon.” I smiled. “You were great. You all were.”

“Aw, thanks,” her cheeks pinked. “I’d never done anything like that before… I just hope I didn’t sound like a blithering idiot.”

Her sincerity only heightened my misery, and I tried not to look at Tom’s face, terrified he’d be able to read every thought in my head. “You didn’t,” I assured her. “You were very natural… very funny.”

“You are so sweet!” She hugged him as if to punctuate her sentence, then jumped in excitement as the music changed. “Oh, my god, I LOVE this song! C’mon!” She grabbed his hand. He moved to follow her deeper into the crowd, but his eyes caught mine once more before being swept away. 

“After this, a drink..?”

I nodded, offering an awkward thumbs-up. “Yeah, great… I’ll be over there…” The throng swallowed him and my shoulders slumped as I made my way back to my barstool. Russell and Ki were still missing in action, so I ordered myself a drink, then buried my head in my hands.  
I was just about to push myself up when Tom appeared at my side, breathless and smiling. “Whew!” He reached past me to grab a cocktail napkin and dry the sweat on his upper lip and forehead. I could feel the heat radiating from him, and his scent filled my nostrils: linen, spearmint, and warm, woodsy muskiness. He eased himself onto the stool next to mine and flagged down the bartender. “Vodka tonic for me, please, and refresh whatever this beautiful lady is having.” He propped his elbow on the bar, resting his chin on his hand. “At last…” His grin was boyishly adorable. “Hi there.”

“Hi.” I couldn’t help but giggle.

“Enjoying the evening so far?” Our drinks arrived, and he took a swallow of his as I fidgeted again with my straw.

“I am,” I nodded. 

Dead air lingered between us for a moment until he chuckled, shaking his head. “And the article? Going well?”

“So far,” I sipped from my glass before spinning it between my fingers, wracking my brain to think of something else to say. I kept coming up empty, and after another lengthy and awkward silence, I offered him a miserable smile. “I’m so sorry. I’m usually better at this.”

“It’s all right,” he laughed gently, taking another drink. “You’re nervous. I’m not exactly sure why…”

“Right,” I cut him off, my eyes rolling in my head.

“Come on,” he nudged my knee with his knuckles. “I’m just a man.”

“An extremely attractive man,” the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“Thank you,” he beamed. “Of course, you are an extremely attractive woman,” his hands gestured between us, “so this should work nicely.”

My jaw dropped a bit, leaving him looking extremely pleased with himself. “Thank you,” I blurted, then drank deeply from my own glass as his knee brushed lightly against my leg. 

“You’re welcome,” he leaned a little closer. “So, lovely Michelle,” he emptied his tumbler at a draught. “I know you’re a writer, I know you like to take pictures. I know you’re from North Carolina, so I know there’s probably a bit of southern belle hidden somewhere under that professional veneer.” He set his glass back on the bar, then re-propped his chin on his wrist. “I know you have adorable dimples when you smile, and I know you’re a sight to see when you’re moving on the dance floor.” His gaze moved deliberately over my face, down the length of my body, then back up again. “Now I’d like to know more.” He leaned back a bit and lowered his hand to the bar, his fingertips brushing feather light over mine. “Please.”

Maybe it was the entreaty in his eyes, or the scent of his cologne mixing with the essence of his skin and the sweat from his exertions with his co-star. Maybe it was his gentle, coaxing touch, or the polite yet undeniable command in his voice. The knot bound up in my chest began to unwind, and the next thing I knew, I was talking. Stumbling over the occasional syllable, babbling a bit, I talked. I kept to the shallows: the festival, the films, the actors, the article. Tom listened with sincere interest, asked questions, enveloped me in that warm, blue stare that locked the rest of the world out. My discomfort did not completely dissipate, but I was relatively relaxed when the tempo of the music picked up once more.

“Tom!” Christine’s voice floated from the perimeter of the dance floor. “Come on! Come on!” 

My heart sank briefly, and I swallowed hard. I was about to release him with thanks when I saw her throw her arms around the shoulders of another man, watched him bend his knees to nuzzle the blonde’s neck while she squealed in delight. When I looked back at Tom, he was watching my expression with knowing amusement. I blushed profusely and ducked my head, grabbing my glass and draining it in a gulp. When I looked up, he had risen from his chair and taken a step closer, silent, commanding. “Okay,” I breathed, slipping my fingers into the hand he offered. The crowd engulfed us; the heat of his touch infused me with new energy. The music surged, Russell and Ki emerged from the mass, a pair of shrewd, self-satisfied grins. Caught in Tom’s orbit, unable to be angry, I simply dragged them closer. 

I was considering leaving the floor to grab a drink and catch my breath when the music changed again, the electro-funk sliding easily into something slower, sultry, beats full of throbbing urgency. Before I could move, he was in front of me, above me, eyes clear under the pulsing multi-hued lights. He stepped close, one leg between mine, barely a hair’s breadth from touching. He caught my wrists, guiding my arms up around his neck. Holding them there, his gaze burning through me, he began to sway, measured, easy. The movement rolled down his lithe body and back up again; I was unable to resist, the asp to his remarkably talented charmer. His hands moved to my hips, nudging gently when he wanted me to move closer, to twist deeper. His long fingers spread wide, burning through the thin linen that separated his skin from mine. All the while his eyes held me, that amazing, indefinable and ever-changing shade of turquoise that teased and seduced and enveloped me in an undertow I ached to sink into, even as my brain screamed that I might never surface again.

I curled my fingers into the damp, silky hair at the base of his skull, and he smiled. His arms slid around my waist, moving the center of his body more fully into the cradle of my hips before pressing against me. Solid, firm, _ample_ , I gasped quietly. His heat, his scent, the sound of his breathing, so perfectly controlled. His forehead came to rest against mine; his mouth so close I could taste the sweetness of the word he whispered.

“Michelle…”

I was falling, sinking, drowning, and all at once, I didn’t care. All I wanted was the exquisite death that waited beneath the crashing waves of logic colliding with longing. My palm slid along his jaw in a tender caress, his stubble sandpaper against my skin. I drew one leg a little higher over his, smiling at his slight inhale of surprise. I tilted my head back and let the syllable fall from my parted lips, prayer and terror, invitation and trepidation, wrapped in a breath with sound. “Tom…”

The entire world went green and gold when his mouth found mine, all other sound and sensation melting away as his arms accepted the weight I could no longer support on my own. The kiss burned, cooled, renewed, time standing still even as the rest of the room continued to move, oblivious, around us. When we finally parted for more than a breath, the tip of his nose grazed its way across my cheek. His mouth against my ear, his honeyed baritone in the center of my head: “I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you.”

Drunk on his presence, his proximity, his confidence, and feeling ridiculously bold, I smiled. “Liar.”

He shook his head slowly, his expression deliciously intense. “Not even a little.”

Suddenly, my buzz was gone, and I realized I’d plunged off of one precipice only to find myself at the edge of another. He could feel the trembling that overtook me, and his embrace tightened. I searched his eyes, saw my own desire with no trace of my doubt. All bravado evaporated, I looked up at him nakedly.

“I don’t do things like this.”

I could see he believed me. “Neither do I.”

I believed him. I stepped free from his arms, ran my fingers through my hair, and straightened my blouse. 

“Let’s go.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is definitely NSFW, folks. Enjoy!

His fingers were plaited through mine the entire ride back to the hotel. The picture of propriety, long legs crossed gracefully, eyes casually scanning the passing city night and my face and form in equal measure. I wondered, more than once, if his restraint was intended to give me the opportunity to change my mind. 

I wondered, more than once, if I should. 

The elevator was wretchedly crowded, our only contact on the sixteen floor ascent the occasional tantalizing brush of his shoulder against mine. His hands were deep in his pockets as he followed me down the hall, and he was silent as I passed my card key through the lock of my door. He entered the room in front of me as I paused to slip the placard ( _“Shhh…”_ ) over the knob before closing the door and sliding the bolt. 

And then the molten blaze of him as he pressed against me from behind, one arm circling my waist, the other hand anchoring itself in my hair. He pulled gently until the top of my head was against the center of his chest, and then he was leaning over to tangle his lips with mine. I moaned softly into his mouth, my hands reaching back to grasp his hips for balance. The fluid grace of his tongue swiped over my lips before probing between them, gentle, demanding. I met it with my own, tasting him, sweet and savory. His grip on my hair moved me once more, drawing the breath from my lungs. The fire of his mouth scorched a blistering trail up to the hollow beneath my ear. He bit down on my earlobe, tugged carefully, exhaled desire over my neck. His hand splayed across my belly, and the tip of his little finger slipped under my waistband, sending a shockwave straight to my core. My body buckled in on itself, my head falling forward; his velvety chuckle of satisfaction vibrated through me.

When I managed to straighten myself, his chin came to rest in the crook of my shoulder, and his fingers found the button at the top of my cleavage. I turned, my lips caressing the corner of his jaw as he freed the tiny onyx disk from its hole, the one below it, the one below that. I shivered as he slid the silk carefully down my arms before tossing it aside. His brow crooked a bit as he seized another kiss, his hands closing on the swells of my breasts. I yelped a bit at his sudden aggression but did not pull away; encouraged, he teased his thumbs over my already hardened nipples through the lace that covered them. “Tom!” My gasp split our mouths apart but he smiled, nipping at my bottom lip. His fingers found the clasp between my breasts and a heartbeat later, my bra joined my blouse on the floor. 

I arched helplessly into his touch, sliding a hand into his hair, silky strands curling around my fingers. He continued to cup and caress my aching flesh, the perfect combination of tender enticement and demanding curiosity. The sensation drove deeper, deeper, until I was squirming, the throbbing at my core sending a flood of welcoming wetness to pool between my legs. He pulled back from me a bit, his eyes searching my face as he traced and teased and twisted the blushing buds of my nipples, memorizing every reaction. The heat of his scrutiny became too much to bear, and I dropped my chin to my chest with a tiny sob. He pressed closer, once again sliding a hand into my hair. He drew me back, his mouth at my temple, close enough to feel the pulse of my blood rushing through my veins. “Do you want me to leave?”

I whimpered. “No.”

A gentle nuzzle of his nose against my cheek. “Do you want me to stop?”

I turned my head on my neck, needing to look into his eyes, to drink courage from their depths. “No.” His gaze burned through me for a moment, and then he parted his lips, deliberate invitation. It only took a heartbeat to slide my tongue between them. He scraped his teeth over it, suckled it firmly, until I was all but panting into his mouth. 

“Michelle,” he breathed against my neck before closing his teeth on one taut ligament. I shuddered, my eyes rolling shut, and I felt him turn me slightly before his strong fingers closed around my wrists. “Put your hands on the wall, love.” I obeyed, and his touch ghosted back along my arms. He pushed the cascade of my hair over one shoulder, exposing the landscape of my bare back. His breath was warm and moist at my nape; his stubble scraped fine trails of fire over the curves of muscle between my shoulders. He sank to his knees behind me, his fingertips tickling my ribs as he danced open mouth kisses down the length of my spine. “Michelle,” he murmured against the sensitive skin at its base, sending waves of goosebumps across my flesh. 

My head dropped against my forearm, my breath hitching in audible gasps. His palms came to rest on my belly, his fingers dexterously unbuttoning then unzipping my slacks. They slid cooperatively to the floor, his hands following their descent, guiding me to step out of them. I hiccupped softly as his lips grazed the back of my thighs, trembled as he rose, slowly, to his full height. His body bent to the curve of mine, his hands stroked over my lace briefs, down between my legs, pulling them apart. “You’re so warm,” he whispered into the shell of my ear. “Tell me, are you wet for me as well?”

The velvet of his voice, the blaze of his touch, the smell of his hair, his skin, his sweat… “Yes,” I mewled.

He massaged the top of my inner thighs, his thumbs teasing along the edge of my panties. “May I?” 

“Oh, God,” I rolled against him. “Yes… please…”

He didn’t hesitate, slipping the fingers of his right hand under the damp fabric, and we gasped in unison as he cupped the plumped flesh beneath. An inarticulate growl escaped his throat as my arousal coated his fingertips, and he pressed his mouth to my ear. “Drenched…” I nodded, swallowing against the Sahara in my throat as every drop of moisture in my cells rushed to entice him deeper. He stroked gently, teasing, drawing my arousal out like a blade, whetting its edge to a dangerous razor-thin.

“Tom,” I exhaled, shaking. “Please…”

“Shhh,” he shushed me, tightening his grip on my thigh. “Trust me.”

Biting down on my lower lip, I closed my eyes, my head falling heavy on his shoulder. His lips closed over the pulse point beneath my ear, the gentle sucking of his mouth matching the rhythm of his hand until I was rocking almost imperceptibly in his arms. I had just begun to relax when I felt his lips curl against my neck in a devilish grin. My eyes flew wide as his long middle finger slipped between my folds, pressing into me in one firm, fluid thrust. I choked out a rapturous cry, arching,   
catlike, my fingers scrabbling to grab his wrist. “No, no, no,” he scolded quietly, “I already told you, love: hands on the wall.” 

_Oh, my god…_

I returned my palms to the textured stucco, my nails scratching divots in the plaster. “Good girl,” he praised lightly, brushed a kiss over my cheek. His touch slipped shallow, then pressed deep once more. My knees buckled a bit, and his other arm circled my waist to hold me in place. “Michelle,” his voice, so even, so controlled, “you feel exquisite.” Thrust, withdraw, thrust, withdraw. “So hot, so wet.” Another thrust, swifter this time, two fingers instead of one. “So tight.” I moaned shamelessly as he found that magic spot inside me, fingertips dancing over it in taunting little circles. His mouth against my ear as before, “Do you want me to stop?”

“N-no!” I shook my head, whining through my nose. “Please, Tom, don’t stop.”

Unyielding pressure against my g-spot. “Do you want more?”

“Yes!” Tears of need were gathering behind my closed lids. “Yes, I want more!”

Drag and thrust, drag and thrust. “Would you like to come on my fingers, sweet?”

“P-please, Tom,” my head thrown back, lips parched, hips rocking of their own accord. “Yes… please!”

A feather light brush of his thumb over my neglected clitoris pushed a strangled sob from my throat, and he tutted soothingly against my neck. “Tell me, Michelle.” Drag and thrust, pressure from his hand splayed across my abdomen. “Tell me.”

“Tom, please,” a single tear slipped from between my lashes; I could feel it burning a path down my cheek. “Please… make me come on your fingers.”

He hummed his approval, the sound vibrating in the center of my brain, “My pleasure, darling.” 

His touch left me empty, and I sobbed at the loss. And then he was smoothing the wetness of my arousal up and around my swollen clit. He caught the hard little bud in the vee of his fingers and I cried out as he massaged, expertly coaxing it out from under its hood of protective flesh and making me tremble with excitement. His breathing in my ear was a bit faster, a bit heavier, hypnotic in its controlled urgency. My hips began to jerk, seeking more. With a satisfied chuckle, he thrust into me once more, his thumb falling into place against my clit as his fingertips again plundered his target inside me. My own fingers clawed mindlessly at the wall, and I pressed down against his hand, desperate for the release he promised. 

“That’s it, love,” he purred. “There’s my girl.” 

Drag and thrust and drag and thrust, harder, and faster, and harder, and a million colors exploded behind my eyes as the floor opened beneath me, flying and floating and falling, all the while his lips over and around mine, eating up my shrieks and curses and moans, holding me and rocking me, so strong, so sure. White gold light that faded slowly into black, his arms embracing me as I shook, his heart beating certain and steady against my spine. 

I came back to myself sobbing his name, grabbing at his hips, pushing myself back at him without thought or shame. “Shhh, sweetheart,” he smoothed my hair from my sweaty brow, wiped the tears tenderly from my cheeks. I could smell my body on his fingers, and it made me shudder with a renewed and agonizing hunger. Our eyes locked, and I pushed the curve of my ass wantonly against the straining bulge in his trousers. His irises darkened, his jaw ticked ever so slightly. “Tell me, Michelle.”

“Fuck me, Tom,” more than a plea, less than a command, naked in need and desire. “Please. Fuck me.”

He spun me quickly; his mouth and hips pressing me back against the wall. The cool drywall against my damp, overheated skin made me gasp, and his brow crooked in wicked amusement as he swept my now soaked panties down and off. We panted into each other’s mouths as his hands made quick work of his belt and zipper, his swollen cock so eager he didn’t even need to bother pushing down his waistband. It sprung free from his open fly, hot as a branding iron against the skin of my belly. I moaned at the sight of it, long and proud, the blushing head already pushed free from his foreskin and leaking at the tip. His chest puffed a bit in masculine pride as he slipped the foil packet from his back pocket. I reached to caress him, only to have him catch my wrist and lift my hand to his neck.

“Plenty of time for that later,” he quipped, calm and controlled, as he rolled the condom deftly into place. “There’s only one thing I want from you right now.” I braced myself against the wall as he lifted my legs, guiding them around his waist. His forehead pressed to mine, his eyes hooded with lust. “Say it again, Michelle.”

“Fuck me, Tom,” a desperate whine. “Please…”

His hips snapped forward, and I screamed in shocked delight as he filled me to the hilt. His nostrils flared, his eyes closed briefly, the cords of his neck taut and beautiful beneath his skin. I stroked his hair, watching the light blaze in every silky strand, every twisting curl. He leaned into my touch and I scratched my nails lightly over his scalp, feeling the shiver that passed through him vibrate into me, making every fine hair on my body stand at attention. His hands cupped my ass, and I arched my back, trembling in anticipation. 

His eyes opened before his body began its sensual roll, the black of his pupils blown wide with want. Again he stared, watching my every blink, every clench of my jaw, every pout of my lips. I let him watch as long as I could bear it, finally breaking and lowering my mouth to his throat. He allowed the reprieve, switching his focus to the spot where our bodies were joined. His thrusts were deep, breathtaking, dragging against every inch of my walls. The slow stretch and burn was delicious torture, a glorious ache that tore me apart even as it built me anew. He’d set a steady, satisfying rhythm with pressure aimed to hit my g-spot with each stroke, until he felt me twisting into him. And then he would slow, stop, shift his force to drive the head of his cock against my cervix with blow after punishing blow. 

Back and forth, ebb and flow, until I was shaking in his arms. Using the wall for leverage, he slipped a thumb under my chin, lifting my head. He traced a fingertip over my trembling lips before pushing between them; I molded my tongue to him and sucked eagerly. His small smile of approval was gorgeous, and he softly kissed the corners of my mouth, even as he slid his finger in and out. He pushed towards my throat, a tiny test of my limits, and I knew when I heard the growled, “Fuck,” exhaled against my cheek that I had passed. I worked my mouth around him with vigor, watching his expression darken, feeling the corresponding urgency in the rocking of his hips.

After a moment, he pulled his hand away, lowering it to my breast. He slicked the wetness around my nipple, making the already erect bud harden further before he lowered his head and closed his lips around it. My grip tightened in his curls as he sucked, my head hitting the wall as my body bowed into his touch. He hummed in satisfaction, biting down and tugging carefully with his teeth. I closed my eyes, focusing on his lips and teeth and tongue as they tasted and teased, moving to my other breast, then back again.

And then, his grip shifted my body, and a thousand stars blurred my vision as the new angle pressed the swell of his pubic bone against my clit. “Oh, God, Tom…”  
His face was beautiful, determined, his mouth against mine as he spoke. “Yes, sweet, you’re going to come.” I closed my eyes, but he nipped sharply at my lip. “Look at me, Michelle,” he commanded. “Look at me when you come on my cock.”

“Tom…”

He nipped me again, his fingers digging painfully into my buttocks. “No argument. Look at me,” he thrust forward with brutal strength, “and come for me. Now.”  
The pressure of his body against me, his cock inside me, and the ache of my climax began to uncoil, tendrils of ecstasy spreading out from my core and reaching into every muscle , every nerve, grabbing and pulling my focus to the inches of hot, pulsing landscape we shared. I moaned his name again and again as I clamped down around him, flexing and grasping, willing him to come with me. I watched his jaw clench, his head fall back, sucked desperately at his Adam’s apple as it hitched in his throat. And then the air left my lungs as he slammed me into the wall, pistoning hard and fast as his own orgasm shattered his control and left him clinging to me, his lips groping at the empty air as he filled the thin rubber barrier between us. 

For long moments there was nothing but the ragged sound of our slowing respirations. His grip slackened a little, but his weight kept me safely pinned to the wall as my quivering limbs held his body to mine. Finally, he lifted his head from my neck, his eyes clearing, his grin full of contagious, mischievous delight. I blinked, realizing that we were still only in the doorway of my suite, that he was still dressed from head to toe, and that, despite two mind-blowing orgasms, my desire for him was nowhere near sated. I looked up at him as he set me carefully on my feet, supporting me while my legs regained their strength. “Tom?”

“Michelle?”

I forced myself to meet his eye. “Will you stay?”

He leaned close, breathing his answer into my mouth.

“I’ll stay.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More NSFW. You have been warned.

Rising to wakefulness, the first thing I became aware of was the scent drifting on the air. Heady, tantalizing, spicy and sweet, the smell of skin and sweat, sex and satisfaction. It caressed me like a lover, drawing me out of the haze of sleep one heartbeat at a time.

The next thing that registered was the warmth pressed against my back, and its living, breathing source. The legs tangled through mine beneath the sheet, the muscular arm draped over me, the strong hand gently cupping my breast. The rhythmic inhale and exhale tickling against my neck; the slow, soothing pulse of his heart against my shoulder.

Tom.

My teeth closed on my lower lip, my breath hitching slightly as I remembered the way he’d taken me from behind with his fingers, the way he’d driven us both to brutal orgasms with my back against the wall. The way he’d led me to the bed, his grin, as if I should have known that what had come before was simply a prologue. His eyes and lips and fingers and tongue had stripped away the last of my inhibitions as my hands stripped away the clothing that separated us. We’d descended to the mattress, kissing, touching, tasting, and the entire world was the blue of his eyes, the velvet of his voice, the heat of his touch. Over and around and above and   
below, sinking and soaring, shaking and sobbing, pleas and promises, and “Yes”, and “Don’t stop”, and my name, over and over, “Michelle… Michelle…”

“Michelle.”

Honey in my ear, it made me shiver and smile. “You’re awake.”

I felt his chuckle as much as heard it. “As are you.”

I squinted at the digital clock on the bedside table. “What time is it?”

“Early still,” a light kiss to my bare shoulder. “Not yet eight.”

“Hmm,” I danced my fingertips over his forearm. “How long have you been up?”

He chortled again, pressing the weight of his groin lightly against my lower back, reminding me to choose my words carefully. “Not long.”

Inhaling deeply, I pushed myself up and over. He lifted his arm to allow me movement, resting it on my hip as I settled back into the pillow, facing him. His eyes were open, still sleepy at the corners, blue and blissful. His bedhead would have looked just as in place if he were he dressed and about as it did lying next to me, and a satisfied flush warmed his skin. _God, he’s just so fucking beautiful._ “Hi.”

His thumb traced an arc above the curve of my buttocks. “Good morning.”

I tucked one hand beneath my cheek, the other tracing the gingery stubble on his chin. Unable to meet his gaze, I fixed mine on his thin, supple lips. “Do you need to go?”

He shook his head. “I don’t have anywhere to be until four.”

I sighed, still staring. “I have to be back at the conference center at one.”

His teeth and tongue peeked through his smile. “No rush, then.”

I finally managed to meet his eye. “No rush.” His eyes held me for a moment, and then he leaned in, intention clear. My hand fluttered to cover my mouth as I winced, embarrassed. “Morning breath…”

His fingers slid up my back, over my shoulder, catching my wrist and pulling it gently but firmly away. “I don’t care.” His lips snared mine and I melted, my hand falling limply to his chest. His slipped under my hair, his thumb teasing my earlobe, gentle pressure at the corner of my jaw urging me to open to him. I obeyed, and his tongue flowed easily into my mouth, flooding my palate with the flavor of hopeful curiosity. He let the kiss burn for moment before withdrawing, then relaxed back into the bed, his hand still resting on my neck. “So lovely,” he murmured. 

I blushed, my fingertips tracing along his clavicle. “Are you hungry?” I asked, needing to fill the silence between us. He shook his head, his eyes twinkling in amusement. “Thirsty?” Again, that calm headshake. I blew my bangs back off my forehead, and he laughed warmly.

“Come here.” 

I scooted across the mattress, closing the small distance between us, curling against him as he wound his arms around me. He buried his nose in my hair, kissed the top of my head. “Did you sleep well, love?” I nodded, humming affirmation. His voice dropped a notch. “Sweet dreams?”

I giggled. “I think I was too exhausted to dream.”

“Mmm,” his fingers stroked lightly up and down my back. “Sorry about that.”

I snuggled into his neck, nipping at the stubbled skin. “You are not,” I scolded with a laugh.

“Yeah, I’m not,” he confirmed with a shake of his head and his ebullient chuckle. “Not sorry at all.” He arched away, looking down into my face, calm, unwavering. “Are you?”

I forced myself to meet his eye, wanting, needing to show him sincerity. “No.”

“Good.” He drew my mouth back to his and the kiss… oh, God, his kisses… warm and sweet and strong, yielding, commanding, enticing. I wanted nothing more than to roll on my back, to pull his weight on top of me, to rut against him until he filled me again and again, to soothe the ache inside by making it burn deeper, sharper, brighter. But before I could gather my nerve he’d released me, shifted more onto his back, and tucked the arm not around my shoulders behind his head. So I lay my cheek against his chest, listening to the steady throb of his heart as my fingertips plucked softly at the fine golden hair that dusted his skin.

His voice rumbled pleasantly beneath my ear. “So, one o’clock?” I nodded. “That’s the presentation by the Stein-Gould Foundation, yes? The one about arts in education?” I nodded again. “Important subject. A passion of yours, I presume. ‘We cannot, as a society, forget that while providing the objectives of reading, writing, and arithmetic may well teach the youth of today how to ingest, memorize, calculate, and regurgitate, it is the only through the added exploration of the subjective of art and music, of dancing and drawing, of singing and sculpting, that we can teach them how to actually think.’”

Every hair on my body stood up at once, and I pushed myself up above him. “What…?”

“Your words,” he grinned, Cheshire in self-satisfaction. “Your editorial response to the proposed public education budget cuts in your local district a few years ago.” He laughed out loud at my bewilderment, then pressed his lips together in a very cat-caught-with-canary manner. “I may or may not have Googled you in my spare time yesterday.”

I could feel my eyes bulge before I dropped my head, hiding my face. “Oh, my God,” I moaned. “You Googled me? Jesus, Tom, I haven’t even Googled myself!” He laughed again, delighting in my discomfort, and I peeked one eye out from under my hair. “What… what did you find?”

He pushed the protective curtain away from my forehead. “Some really brilliant writing,” he replied. “That one, the article supporting the creation of a new women’s health services center in Durham, your editorial insisting that it is not only possible but necessary to detox traditional southern values and mesh them more with progressive society needs…”

“Yeah, I caught a lot of shit for that one,” I mused absently.

“But that’s the point sometimes, isn’t it?” His hand caressed my cheek, and the warmth in his eyes drew me out of the shelter of my elbow. “Michelle,” he smiled softly, “you have an incredible voice.” I could feel myself flushing crimson under his praise, but then he raised his chin a notch, looking down at me with curious inquiry. “I can’t help but wonder why you’re doing pieces like this,” he gestured toward my NYIFF press pass on the bedside table. “If I may say, I can’t help but think that event reporting would be a touch… academic… for someone who clearly seems to crave things a bit more challenging.”

It was absurd, the feelings that gripped me as I bore his critique. Rationality quipped that he barely knew me, yet at the same time, something inside me felt _recognized_. As if that blue-green stare had cut through the layers I could not myself forge a way through and found something I had lost. It was exciting and terrifying, and all at once, I couldn’t breathe. 

And just as quickly as the mood had intensified, it relaxed. With a shrug of his shoulders, he continued. “So yes, exceptional writing. Not exactly what I was looking for, but a precious find, all the same.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, resting my chin on his chest. “And what, exactly, were you looking for?”

He grinned impishly. “Pictures, of course.”

I blanched playfully as he snickered. “There are pictures of me on the internet?”

“Not really, I told you,” he smirked. “The only one I could find was your staff photo from the Herald Sun. Lovely, but just the one.”

“Ugh,” I pulled a face, “that’s my passport photo!”

Mischief crinkled the corners of his eyes. “All right, then.” He rolled away from me, reaching down to snag his discarded trousers. He fumbled in his pocket for a moment, and when his fingers reemerged holding his cellular, I shook my head.

“Tom, you’re not serious.”

“What?” Wide eyed innocence, he sank back into the pillow and beckoned me closer. “Come here.”

“Tom!” He continued to gaze at me, deliberately uncomprehending. “You’re not suggesting we take a selfie… like this..?”

“Oh, God, Michelle, would you trust me, please?” His face was exasperation and affection, and I allowed him to draw me in, tucking myself under his arm. “Now, just relax,” he pressed a soft kiss to my temple as he extended his arm above us, aiming the phone’s camera lens carefully. “I’ve become a bit of an expert at this.” Knowing exactly what he was referencing, I burst out laughing just as he clicked the button, once, twice, three times. Then he brought the cellular back down, tapping the screen to reveal what he’d captured.

Maybe it was the fact that he’d caught me in a genuine reaction. More likely, it was the fact that his face was so close to mine. Whatever the reason, I had to admit that the images made my heart skip a beat. And he was right; he’d positioned the device so perfectly that no one would be able to tell that the two of us had been lying in bed, as opposed to standing side by side, huddling close to fit into the frame. I gazed up at him as he scrolled from picture to picture, touched by the satisfaction in his expression. I chewed on my lip for a moment. “Think you could send those to me?”

I didn’t think his smile could become more beautiful; I was wrong. He positively beamed at me. “If it means I get your number, absolutely.” I held out my hand, and he placed the mobile in my palm. I tapped out the necessary strokes; a moment later, my own phone chimed from my purse, lying forgotten by the door. I handed the device back to him before brushing a soft kiss over his lips. 

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” He tossed the phone back to his pile of abandoned clothing and threaded his fingers through my hair, pulling my mouth back to his as he rolled me under him. I moaned as he shifted his hips, his arousal hot and hard against my thigh. His triumphant grin broke our kiss. “So… not too early for this, then?”

“God, no,” I squirmed as he retrieved a condom and rolled it into place. I moved to embrace him, but his hands caught my wrists, his long fingers circling them with ease. He pinned them to the pillow on either side of my head before dipping down to kiss me again, longer, deeper than before. His tongue twisted around mine, coaxing it into his mouth, biting down softly before sucking gently. I could feel my body rushing to prepare for him: the heaviness of my breasts swelling against his chest, the pinpricks of sensation as my nipples hardened to taut points, the flip in my belly as my muscles below clenched in need, the slick heat of the moisture suddenly pouring from the cleft between my legs.

He could feel it as well; his grip tightened ever so slightly as he released my mouth, tenderly nuzzling my nose and whispering, “Such a good girl,” against my lips. “Spread your legs for me, love,” he directed, his voice husky with arousal. I obeyed quickly, suddenly uncertain which I wanted more: his cock pushing inside me or his or his praise flowing over me. 

With slow, sensual deliberation, he began to roll his body, gliding his rigid length over and against my dripping folds. “Dear God, Michelle,” his words calm, controlled. “So hot, so ready.” He kissed me again, hungrily, and I lifted my hips to meet him, drawing a groan of lusty approval from his throat. “That’s it,” he urged. “Get my cock nice and wet.” We moved in concert another long moment, and then he shifted, pressing the head of his erection against the clenching muscles of my entrance. My eyes rolled shut and he pulled back abruptly, making me whimper in dismay. “Look at me, darling,” his tone held the softest note of warning, and I was helpless to resist. 

“Tom,” I whispered hoarsely, forcing myself to focus on his face, a beautiful landscape of confident composure lit from within by burning desire.

“Michelle,” he kissed my forehead, the tip of my nose, each of my eyelids. “Don’t look away.” 

I gulped in a breath, and nodded weakly. He gave me his lips one more time, holding my gaze in an iron grip, and as I started to melt into the kiss, he moved. His thrust was slow, parting my folds and piercing my core with agonizing precision. I gasped as his length penetrated, his girth stretched, wondering how, after the rigors of the night before, everything still felt so new, so tight and unexplored. My hands jerked reflexively and he pressed them again into the pillow, holding me down as he pulled back. “Exquisite,” he sighed, driving in once more.

His eyes never left mine as he fucked me; he studied me the way I was certain he studied his scripts, his sides, his blocking directions, with a burning need to know me inside and out. I shivered ceaselessly beneath him; once or twice I twisted my arms against his restraining hands, wanting desperately to pull him down, to hold him close. “Tom… please…”

The roll of his hips slowed, but neither his grip nor his gaze waivered. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” I shook my head frantically. “I just… I want…” My eyes began to tear.

“Shhh,” he soothed his lips over my brow, down my cheek. “Let go, sweet. Trust me… and let go.”

A tide of overwhelming emotion crashed over me, and my shoulders shook with a few tiny sobs. His smile was angelic as he kissed away the tears that scalded my cheeks, whispered quiet encouragement against my flushed skin. Slowly, his thrusts began to pick up speed, to increase in force, and I knew he was close. The realization ratcheted up my own excitement, and my body bowed off the bed to meet his, my own orgasm rising from the depths of my core. I thought he’d be pleased, aroused, but his brow furrowed the slightest bit. “Michelle.” Again, that tiny note of warning. “Not yet, love.” I know my expression was wide-eyed, confused, but he shook his head firmly. “Not yet.”

I whimpered like a puppy, my head sinking back into the pillow, another tear slipping from the corner of my eye. “Okay, Tom,” I whispered with a tiny sniffle. 

The pleasure and pride that broke across his face was like the sun emerging after a storm. It unlocked the vise that had clamped down on my chest; it made my entire being glow with delight. He released my wrists, pinning me instead with fingers threaded through mine, and I clutched at his hands gratefully. I offered him my mouth, and my heart soared when he accepted, kissing and nipping and tasting, his body edging us closer and closer to the abyss. Finally, he lifted his head once more, his eyes full of passionate promise. “Beautiful girl…”

I nodded, his name falling easily from my lips. “Tom…”

“Michelle,” his jaw clenched, his hips stuttered against mine ever so slightly, “come with me, love.”

“Yes, Tom,” I mewled, lifting my body in offering, every pounding beat of my heart begging him to claim it. Gripping my hands like iron, he raised up, pressing me down, fucking me into the mattress with every ounce of his strength.

My orgasm didn’t just surge, it exploded, every muscle convulsing with white hot electricity, locking my throat so tightly I couldn’t even scream. My wide blown eyes drank in the sight of him, savage and striking, curls trembling above his brow, teeth bared in a silent snarl, perspiration pooled in the hollow of his throat. His body clenched and unclenched between my legs, drawing out each and every thread of sensation until they snapped, collapsing him, boneless, on top of me. His fingers finally let me loose and I scrabbled to embrace him, clutching the thrumming muscles of his back.

His ragged breathing was hot against my skin, white noise against my ear. I stroked his hair, his shoulders, the ridges of his spine, pressed weak kisses to his forehead. And all the while, I floated on the mantra that flowed from his lips.

“Michelle… Michelle… my sweet Michelle…”


	7. Chapter 7

The sound of applause jerked me to attention, my eyes blinking in mild confusion. People began to rise from their seats around me; I tucked my legs under my theater chair to let them shuffle past. My gaze shifted to the digital recorder clasped loosely in my hand, and I sighed in relief to see it still running. The two hour presentation about the need to keep artistic education in public schools was supposed to be a cornerstone of my article, and I hadn’t heard a single word of it.

All I could think about was Tom.

I could still feel the trails his perspiration had traced over my skin as it fell from him like rain, the weight of his body where he’d collapsed, spent, against me. His voice still whispered through my brain, I could still taste his tongue in my mouth. My fingers kept sneaking to rub softly at my wrists where he’d held me down, his grip power and control tempered with caution. The skin was clear; he’d taken pains to leave me unbruised. I found myself wishing he hadn’t, wishing he’d left some mark behind. Something I could touch and inspect and wonder over as I tried to figure out exactly what the hell I was doing.

We’d lounged silently for a long while after our morning exertions, his head pillowed on my chest, his fingers tracing languid circles over my skin while mine played idly with the curls tickling beneath my chin. Around ten-thirty, his phone began to ring, and he pushed himself up on his elbow with a groan. “So sorry, love…” He dropped a peck on my lips before rolling over, and I laughed at his gangly attempt to snag the device from the floor without falling out of the bed himself. Once he’d grabbed it, he pressed it to his ear while holding out his other arm; he was already speaking to the person on the other end when I caught his hand and dragged him back next to me. “Michael, how are you?” He listened for a reply, then cocked a lascivious brow at me. “Me? I’m absolutely spectacular this morning, thanks.” He tugged a lock of my hair as I hid my burning cheeks in my hands. 

It didn’t take long for me to figure out that Michael was either an agent or a manager, and that their discussion was regarding some kind of snag for a future project. I suddenly felt awkward, as if I was eavesdropping, and I moved to slide from the bed. Tom grabbed my arm to stop me, silently mouthing “I’m so sorry.” I shook my head quickly, wide eyed, and lifted his hand to kiss it. I gestured towards the bathroom, whispering my intention of grabbing a quick shower. His eyes narrowed, his lips pursed in a silent “ooooh” as I snagged the comforter, wrapping myself in it with a giggle.

My reflection in the mirror made me gasp. I never thought of myself as ugly, but I never counted myself among the world’s great beauties, either: the overly common brown on brown hair and eye combo, Irish heritage far too apparent in my skin, curves that curved a fair bit more than conventional standard said they should. But the woman I saw staring back at me, hair tousled and wild, eyes smoldering under naughtily smudged kohl and shadow, lips swollen and blushing… she was kind of hot. I let the blanket slide to the floor, twisting and turning to find every love bite, every scrape of whisker burn. I touched each and every spot, thrilling in the lingering sting and throb. I slid my palms down my belly, closing my eyes as my fingertips slipped through the short, silky curls now sticky with my release, marveling at the heat, the pulsation…

Tom’s laugh from the bedroom broke into my reverie and I snatched my hands back to my sides, blushing furiously and scuttling to twist the knobs of the tub. A moment later I was beneath the steaming cascade, my mouth open to catch the drops that bounced off my cheeks and chin. I soaped my hair briskly, combing out the tangles with my fingers until it flowed smoothly down my back. I was relaxing under the stream, lost in a sleepy haze, when strong arms circled me from behind and supple lips danced against the shell of my ear. “This was a lovely idea,” he whispered, catching a drop of water from my earlobe with the tip of his tongue. “I hope it’s all right that I’m joining you.”

I turned in his embrace, smiling shyly up into his eyes. “Of course,” I slipped my arms around his waist and drew him under the spray. He let his head fall back on his neck as the water poured over him, pulling his curls back and making his ruddy skin glisten. I watched the rivulets trail over his brow, down the angle of his jaw, pool in the hollows of his throat and collarbone. I held the small of his back as he arched, stretching like a jungle cat, feeling the muscle ripple beneath my fingers. When he was done, he snagged my bottle of shampoo and poured some into his hands. I giggled as he smoothed it through his hair. “In the mood to smell like Moroccan orchid all day?”

“In the mood to smell like _you_ all day,” he grinned, flicking suds at me playfully before rinsing off. His eyes danced with mirth as he pulled me close once more. “I took the liberty of ordering us some room service,” he bent his head to kiss my neck.

“My hero,” I sighed before his mouth sealed over my lips, stealing the breath from my lungs.

We breakfasted picnic style on the bed, Tom clad in the bathrobe the hotel provided while I simply threw on at-shirt and panties. “So,” I spread butter on an English muffin as he sipped from his coffee cup, “everything okay with that,” I gestured towards his phone, “whatever that was?”

“I think it will be,” he nodded, stealing a grape from my plate. “Slight scheduling conflict, an unavoidable double booking.”

I watched his hands work his utensils dexterously over his plate, transfixed. “Are you going to have to bail on one of them?”

“I sincerely hope not,” he winced slightly. “It’s only a four day window we’re talking about.” I hummed as if I understood, but he burst out laughing anyway. “But you have no idea what I’m talking about.” I shrugged and shook my head. “I have a commitment to film in Century City from May to July of next year, and it happens to overlap a long weekend of RADA alumni activity in London. And I’m a stubborn sod who won’t flat cancel one for the other, which seems to have put my manager in quite the tight spot.” I nodded, watching him pluck a strawberry from my remaining fruit. 

“Well, that’s seven months away,” I offered, sipping my own coffee. “I’m sure you’ll be able to work something out.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” he pulled a face. “I just shudder to think of all the back-and-forth that will have to happen between now and then.” He shook his head, abducting yet another grape from my plate.

“Tom,” I set my cup down on the nightstand. “I need to ask you a question.” His eyes met mine, wide and clear; I could see him swallow as he nodded expectantly. I leaned forward a little. “If you wanted fruit, why didn’t you just order it for yourself?” 

He blanched a little, surprised, and then ducked his head in sheepish guilt. “More fun to steal it from you,” he admitted adorably. “Tastes sweeter, I guess.” We regarded each other for a moment in silence, before laughter overtook us both. I plucked the last strawberry from the pile and scooted closer to him, placing it between his parted lips. He bit down slowly, purring as the juices flowed onto his tongue. “Delicious,” he murmured. “Come, taste.” He caressed my cheek as I kissed him, and I shivered, taking what he offered, trying to give him as much in return. He was grinning when we parted. “Have dinner with me tonight?” The question sent butterflies through my stomach; all I could do was nod, feeling the ache in my face from the breadth of my smile.

“I was going to ask what the hell happened to you,” Russell’s voice from my left broke into my daydream. “But I think that shit-eating grin tells me everything I need to know.” He stood at the end of the aisle in the now abandoned auditorium, his arms crossed over his chest, an amused and expectant smirk on his lips.

“Hi, Russell,” I chuckled a little, my face burning.

“Fuck your ‘Hi, Russell’. Get your ass over here and give me some details.” Hhe tapped his foot as I tucked the recorder into my bag and shouldered the strap, rising to sidle my way over to him. “You disappear from the dance floor without even saying goodbye – which was kind of a badass move, by the way, my compliments – I don’t hear from you last night, I don’t hear from you this morning, and now I find you here staring off into space.” He wrapped his arm around me and hugged me roughly. “What did that man do to you?”

“Oh, God, Russ,” I nudged his ribs. “Please stop.”

“Come on, Chelle,” he shook me a little. “You’ve got to give me something. Anything! Did you go for a drink? Dessert? TELL ME!”

I giggled, nibbling on my thumbnail. “We had breakfast this morning.”

“Okay, breakfast this morning. Where did he take you? Did he come and get you, or did you meet him somewhere? Did anybody see you? Are you two going to be splashed allover page six?” He looked down at me when he finally stopped to take a breath. I couldn’t meet his eye; all I could do was chew on my lip and breathe. He jerked to a stop, grabbing me by my shoulders and turning me to face him. “Oh, holy shit…”

“Shhh,” I urged, glancing around to make certain we were still alone.

“Chelle!” His expression was shocked and delighted. “Oh, my God…you didn’t.” I met his gaze at last, and he read all he needed to in my eyes. “Oh, my God, you did!” The air left me in a whoosh when he crushed me in a hug, and I clung to him as he haphazardly swung me up off the ground. “Oh, my God… oh, my God… oh, my God.” He set me down, shaking me again by my shoulders. “I am so proud of you! Was it good? Oh, who am I kidding? It was great, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it? I’ve seen the way he moves that body…oh, my God, how are you even walking right now?”

“Russ,” I hissed, clapping a hand over his mouth. “Rein it in, sweetie. Please?” I raked my hands through my hair as we started back towards the door. “I will confirm to you, and only to you, that I was, in fact, with Tom last night and this morning. I will confirm that he is as wonderful and amazing as people speculate. As far as details,” his eyebrows lifted in anticipation, “you can forget it.” He scowled at me, and I laughed a little before taking a breath, trying to collect my thoughts. We walked in blessed silence for a bit, until I could sense the curiosity ready to burst through his skin. “What?” I drawled patiently.

“So, what are you guys?” He asked pointedly. “I mean, is it just casual, a one-hit wonder kind of thing? Are you going to hook up again? Is it something more?”

“Oh, God, Russ,” I passed a slightly trembling hand over my face. “I honestly don’t know.”

His arm circled me again, and I lay my head against his shoulder. “What would you like it to be?”

I snorted. “Easier to figure out.” 

“Come on, Chelle,” he scolded. “You have to at least have some idea what you want.”

“Of course I do,” I blurted, “how to go about getting it…”

“Well, you obviously got the man’s attention,” he chuckled, rubbing his palm up and down my arm. “Seems to me you’re off to a hell of a start. When do you think you might see him again?”

I smiled before I could stop myself. “He asked me to dinner tonight.”

“Well, see, there you go,” he grinned. “Another step in the right direction.” 

By this time, we had reached the front of the building, and I sighed as the cool autumn air hit my flushed cheeks. We could see a few small clusters of press and paparazzi scattered throughout the courtyard, and I swallowed hard when I realized Tom was at the center of one of them. He was engaged with a blonde reporter, smiling and gesturing with his hands as she gazed, dumbstruck. I fumbled in my bag for my camera, aiming and clicking until they parted. He was surrounded almost immediately by security, but as they headed for the stairs, he saw me. His smile broadened and his pace quickened, and Russ slid cooperatively into the background as he caught me in a warm hug. “Hello again,” he murmured into my neck.

“Hi there.” My greeting, light and airy, but I could tell when his eyes met mine he was acutely aware of the tempest tumbling inside me. And, par for the course, he was delighted by it. 

“Russell, hi!” His arm lingered at my waist as he reached to shake Russ’ hand. “Good to see you again!”

“Hey, Tom,” Russell’s tone was full of mischief.

I glared at him. _For once in your life, DON’T be yourself, asshole._

The smile he volleyed back was pure saccharine. _Relax, kitten._ “Lookin’ sharp today, as always.”

“Aw, thanks,” Tom dipped his head in his oh-so-humble manner, his grip pulling me a bit closer, as if having me tucked under his arm was the most normal thing in the world. I melted into him, I couldn’t help it. He and Russell continued to chat; polite back and forth about the party and such, but all I cared about was the warmth of his hand on my arm, and the lingering scent of my perfume on his skin. 

When his handlers finally tugged at his elbow to urge him on his way, he offered Russ another hearty handshake before turning more fully to me, effectively shutting out the rest of the world with the softness of his voice and the crook of that amazing right eyebrow. “I should have all this wrapped up around eight.”

“Okay,” I smiled, dizzy and dazzled. “That… sounds good.”

“Great! So, I’ll just text you, then.”

“Sure!”

His hand rose, fingers catching my neck as his thumb stroked the corner of my jaw, the sensuality of his touch sharp contrast to the chaste kiss he pressed to my forehead. “I’ll see you later, then.” And in a whisper of linen, he was gone, casting one last playful grin at me over his shoulder. My body shuddered from head to toe, and when I looked back at Russell, he was watching me with a rather peculiar expression on his face. 

“Wow.”  
My stomach twisted sharply. “What?”

“That was,” he blew his breath out through puffed cheeks. “Wow.” 

We stood for a moment, communicating silently, my eyes hopeful, his reassuring. “Really?” I finally asked softly.

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded, wrapping his arm around me again to anchor me to the ground as we headed for a taxi. “Definitely.”


	8. Chapter 8

I stood in front of the window, looking out at the New York City night, bouncing a bit on the balls of my bare feet. My cellphone was in my hand, even though I had read and re-read the exchange at least fifty times since it buzzed beside my laptop over an hour before, his name alongside the text icon.

_Hello, beautiful girl. Busy?_

My fingers froze in their flight pattern over my keyboard, and I had to sit back in my chair for a moment, grinning like a loon. Breathing deeply, I picked up the device and tapped out a response.

_Hello yourself. Writing, but I wouldn’t mind a little break._

I chewed on my thumbnail while I waited for his reply.

_Oops! I should have known, so sorry. I hope I didn’t derail your train of thought too terribly._

“Of course you did,” I giggled aloud, even as I typed out a quick denial. _No need to apologize. I’ve hammered out enough to send my editor a draft._ I pressed the “Send” icon and forced myself to put the phone down, rising from my chair and crossing the room to snag a bottle of water from the mini fridge. I unscrewed the top and took a deep drink. I actually spilled a few drops on the front of my shirt when my phone buzzed again. I tamped down my urge to sprint back to the desk, screwing the bottle shut and placing it back on the shelf before walking with slow deliberation to my chair.

_Such a good girl._

I was shivering with the mobile in my hand when the next message arrived. _I’m nearly done with my business here, and quite anxious to have you in my arms again. Is it completely disgusting and unchivalrous of me to suggest that our dinner this evening be more of a “stay in” than “go out”?_

I dropped the phone, my heart racing, my head spinning. I had agonized on and off all afternoon as I pondered our “date”: where it would be, what I should wear, what I should expect, where it would lead. I’d finally forced the subject out of my head before hurling myself into work, praying that he would take the helm and simply have me follow in his wake. It was appealing, the thought of being out on his arm, having people smile and speculate and inquire suggestively. But the thought also filled me with anxiety, even a hint of jealousy. But that text. It was as if he had crawled inside my brain and plucked the words from my deepest hopeful thoughts. I considered long and hard how to word my reply.

_I don’t think so; is it completely unladylike for me to admit that a “stay in” sounds really lovely?_

It seemed an eternity passed before my screen illuminated once more.

_Not at all. I’ll be there soon._

Forty-five minutes had passed, and I was starting to think I was going to climb out of my skin when a soft knock stopped my heart in my chest. Blowing my hair back from my forehead, I moved to the door. Tucking one hand into the back pocket of my jeans, I caught the doorknob with the other and twisted.

His smile was warm brilliance above the pizza box and white paper bags in his arms. “Hello, sweet,” he greeted me. “Hungry?” I held open the door, and he paused as he passed to steal a quick kiss. I followed him to the table, clearing away my computer and notes as he began to arrange the spread he’d brought. “I hope Italian is all right – Justin positively raves about this place.”

“Are you kidding?” I grinned, crossing to the minibar to fetch a couple of tumblers to add to the paper plates and plastic ware. “It smells heavenly.” I took in all the selections he’d brought: a beautifully tossed salad, a small pizza bubbling with fresh cheese, two different pasta dishes, a bottle of Merlot.

“And,” he grinned down at me, “if you’re a very good girl…” He produced a decadent looking tiramisu from the bottom of the bag with a flourish.

I tilted my head back to smile teasingly up at him. “You’re just full of temptations, aren’t you, Mr. Hiddleston?”

“Darling,” he took my neck in his hands, “you have no idea.” With that, he claimed my mouth, his tongue tickling just beyond my teeth. I lay my hands on his hips, feeling the heat of him radiate through the linen of his white oxford, and willed myself to stay on my feet.

We fixed our plates and moved to the small sofa and coffee table, we turned the television to one of the movie channels just for some background noise. After a few bites, Tom wiped his mouth with his napkin and reached across me, lifting my camera from where it hung on the back of my chair. “Old school,” he mused, turning it in his hands with respectful admiration. “Sentimental?”

I nodded, smiling. “A gift from my father.”

“Very nice,” he raised it to peer through the eyepiece, focusing the lens on my face as I covered it with my palm.

“Don’t you dare,” I warned with a giggle.

He pouted briefly before putting it down on the tabletop. “Do you develop your own film?”

“Sometimes,” I nodded, sipping the wine from the glass in front of me. “I don’t have much of a darkroom, just the extra bathroom at home, but it works well enough.”

“I’d love to see some of your shots.” I felt my cheeks pink and I lowered my gaze shyly. “I bet they’re remarkable, especially if they’re anything like your writing.”

“Maybe I’ll send you some,” I offered coyly.

He grinned, picking up his fork once more. “So, a gift from your father. Does that mean you’re a daddy’s girl?” He teased.

“Very much so,” I confirmed proudly, taking a bite of my own.

“Any siblings to resent that?”

“Nope.” I took a breath. “I’m an only. I mean, my mom…” I stopped abruptly; worried too much truth too quickly would sour the evening beyond repair. I waved my hand as if to brush my words from the air. “I’m an only child.”

Tom hummed quietly, letting me know he was aware that there was more to the story, but that he wasn’t going to press. Instead, he asked about my parents. He listened intently as I described them both, the Air Force chief and his hairdresser wife. He squeezed my hand when I spoke of my mother’s passing, massaged my fingers when I explained my father’s neurological deficits. “So,” he took a drink from his glass, “you don’t see him at all?”

“A few times a year,” I nodded. “Birthdays… Christmas… anytime the Spurs or the Redwings make the playoffs.” He laughed, and I smoothed a hand through my hair. “We speak on the phone several times a week, and I’m always emailing him things.” I shrugged, and offered a genuine smile. “It works. I’m lucky; things could be so much worse than they are.”

“Well,” he lifted my hand to his lips, “I think you’re quite amazing.” His eyes held mine as he kissed my fingertips.

“Thank you.” I downed the last of my wine, then used my grip on his hand to pull him closer. I nudged him to sit on the floor between my legs, and closed my fingers on the muscles of his neck. “Now tell me about your family.”

“Jesus God, Michelle,” he groaned. “Keep rubbing like that and I’ll tell you anything you want.”

I kneaded his neck and shoulders, and the words flowed from his mouth, descriptions of his mother and sisters, his father and grandfather. “They sound wonderful,” I mused, working my knuckles against a knot just inside his shoulder blade. “You must be looking forward to seeing them again.”

“I am,” he nodded, leaning into my touch and stretching his neck. Silence fell between us for a few moments as the detective on screen stalked his nemesis down a dark alley. I was just starting to think Tom was engrossed in the plot when he spoke again, quiet but firm. “You are allowed to ask, you know.”

I slid my fingers into his hair, scratching my nails lightly over his scalp. “Ask what?”

He reached for the remote and switched the television off, then pushed himself onto his knees, turning to face me. “The question that’s been bouncing around behind those lovely eyes of yours since this morning.” His palms slid up my thighs, his fingers hooking into the belt loops at my waistband. “Michelle,” his gaze held mine. “You’re allowed to ask what we’re doing here.”

I inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. “Tom…” My voice cracked a bit, and he leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss against my mouth.

“I’m very drawn to you, Michelle,” he murmured softly. “I have been from the first moment you caught my eye.”

“Why?” The word fell from my tremulous lips before I could stop it.

His smile was stunning, powerful. “The easy answer is because you’re beautiful. But that’s just how you got my attention; it has very little to do with how you’ve kept it. Maybe it’s because you don’t think you’re beautiful, and that’s just fine with you. Maybe it’s because you don’t think people look twice at you, so what you show the world is nakedly honest. Maybe it’s because people light up around you, because of you, and you don’t even know it.” His eyes darkened a shade. “Maybe it’s because I’ve never seen a woman so comfortable, so independent, seem so lost, so unsure where to look to find what she wants. Maybe it’s because something inside you seems to fall apart when I’m close to you, and it cries out to me to put it back together.”

I was trembling beneath his words, unable to comprehend how he could be kneeling on the floor below me and still be so in command.

“Maybe it’s because you fit inside me, into a hole I didn’t even know was there.” His fingers curled against my hips. “I’m a very lucky man, Michelle. I’ve met a lot of incredible women over the last few years: gorgeous, intelligent, talented women, many of whom have made themselves sweetly available. None of them have stirred in me the things I feel when I’m with you. And, for me, it’s quite simple: I want you in my life. We can pick a label for it, if you like, but…” He shrugged. “I want you in my life.”

“Tom,” I caressed his cheek, and he turned his face into my touch, kissing my palm. “How can you be so certain?”

He shrugged again. “Because I am.”

I blinked and lowered my gaze as my traitor eyes began to tear. “I just,” I groped for words. “It’s… fast, so fast…”

He caught my chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently forcing me to look at him again. “That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s wrong.”

“I know that, but…” I trailed off weakly, and he rose up a bit, taking my face in his hands.

“Michelle,” his eyes blazed into mine, his voice unyielding, but not unkind. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” I grabbed his wrists, clinging to him.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes!” My tears fell on his cuffs as I nodded frantically. “Yes, please!”

“Tell me, sweet,” he commanded tenderly, his fingers pressing lightly against the base of my skull, his thumbs tickling my earlobes, his body shifting between my thighs. “Please… tell me.”

I lay my forehead against his, laughing a little when I realized I could still smell the traces of my shampoo in his hair. “Stay with me, Tom,” I pleaded urgently. “Please, stay with me.”

“My beautiful girl,” he spoke the words into my mouth before ensnaring me in another hungry kiss, rising off the floor and pressing me back against the cushions of the sofa. My t-shirt hiked up a bit, and I gasped when he lay his palm against my bare midriff. His muscular thigh pressed between my legs and I undulated against it, feeling my wetness soaking my panties, the seam of my jeans. He released my lips with a growl, hovering above me. “Put your hands above your head, love.”

Shaking visibly, I obeyed, and he showed me how to cross them at the wrists as he desired. He pinned their intersection to the cushion over me with one strong hand, pushing carefully until my arms were fully extended. The position forced my back to arch, and he briefly tongued my open mouth before burying his face between my breasts. I could feel the fingers of his free hand fumbling with my button and zipper. Once they were open, he wasted no time; he flattened his palm against my belly and slid his hand down into my open fly, underneath my panties.

“Christ, Michelle,” he groaned. “So hot, so wet.” He pushed two long fingers up inside me, rolling my eyes back in my head and dragging a ragged cry from my throat. My nipples were hard, straining peaks beneath the soft cotton of my shirt; he bit down on one, then the other, tugging briefly before moving his mouth up next to my ear. “I’m going to make you come, sweet, just like this.” I whimpered softly, nodding reflexively. “And once I’m finished, I’m going to take you back to that bed.” He nipped at my earlobe. “I’m going to strip away every stitch of your clothing, I’m going to pin you to the mattress, and I’m going to fuck you until you scream my name.” I could feel his smile curling against my skin. “Any objections?” I shook my head, moaning helplessly as he swirled his fingertips around my g-spot. “Then look at me, love,” he whispered, “and tell me what you want.”

I turned my head on my neck, groped my lips against his. “Tom,” I mewled, words locking in my throat. “Tom…”

His hand retreated and with it, the promise of climax that had been building in the center of my body. I sobbed, bucking and wriggling my hips, trying desperately to reconnect to the exquisite pressure. His eyes, so blue and warm, bore into mine, shining with a comforting light. “Tell me, Michelle.”

“Please, Tom,” I surrendered to him, “I want you.”

His hand released my wrists, but it never occurred to me to move them out of place. He slid his fingers into my hair, pulled my head back, thrust his tongue into my mouth. I had just begun to suckle when he filled me again, the heel of his hand pressing down against my aching clitoris. He swallowed my howl as my orgasm clawed its’ way to the surface, erupting, spilling sensation up through my belly and breasts, down through my dripping folds and quaking thighs. His fingers inside me pulled, stretched, drawing out every blissful twitch and throb until I slumped, limp in his arms.

“Michelle,” he soothed his lips over my brow, “my beautiful, beautiful girl.” His wet fingertips traced my lips, and he hissed softly as I extended my tongue, coaxing them inside, hungry to taste my release on his skin. “My God, what you do to me.” He returned his mouth to mine, kissing me even as I licked and sucked his fingers until there was no trace of myself left. A moment later, I felt my body lifted, and I curled into his chest as he carried me to the bed, drifting on his sweet kisses, and the promise of the rapture yet to come.


	9. Chapter 9

We spent our last day together in New York actually _together_ , rising early in my suite so that I could shower and dress, then cabbing to his hotel so that he could do the same. We chatted with his co-stars and crew over coffee in the lounge, and his hands and fingers caused their fair share of teasing mischief under my skirt in the back of the limo that drove us to the festival. I stayed close by as he made his way through the gauntlet of interviews, taking pictures, making notes, cherishing each playful wink and dazzling smile.

After a quick lunch with Russell and Ki and few others from my camp, we filed into the theater that was screening his film and took seats at the back. He caught my hand in both of his, looking every bit the excited child on Christmas morning. “I hope you like it.” The lights dimmed, and I leaned close, impulsively brushing my lips over his.

I loved it. Tom and Christine were stellar in their roles as a couple whose relationship was collapsing under the weight of waning interest, each turning in performances that were both funny and heartbreakingly tragic. The credits rolled to slow-building applause, and Tom was flushed with pride as he rose from his chair. His fingers threaded through mine and he led me out to the vestibule, tucking me into the corner with a slow, soft kiss. “Wait for me,” he breathed into my hair, and I nodded, squeezing his hand before releasing him. He took his place alongside his co-star, answering questions and posing for photos with his usual gracious aplomb. His gaze kept returning to me, his eyes caressing my face and body, his smile bathing me in shivers of delight.  

Still, at the center of the warmth spreading through my insides, a tiny, icy sliver of trepidation lingered. The nagging little voice in the back of my head that was never silent for very long: _remember what they say about too good to be true._ It was easily managed, though. All I needed to do was remind myself that there was a plane ticket in my wallet, a life several states away, and both were going to interrupt my unrealistic reality soon enough. When he returned to my side, it was easy to slide into place beneath his arm, against his chest, and lose myself in the amber and cedarwood smell of his skin.

He convinced me to join his table for the dinner banquet that closed the event, and I had to admit it made for a lovely evening. I was able to meet Luke, officially, and spent a fair amount of time chatting with Christine and her new beau. There were rumors of an impromptu after party happening at another nearby nightclub, but Tom’s intense stare when I brought it to his attention was enough to let me know he was interested in a more private conclusion to the evening. And so we found ourselves once again side by side in the back of a cab, buzzing through the neon night. He grinned at me as I maintained a ladylike distance, my legs properly crossed at the knee. I sniffed at him, tossing my head playfully, and he chuckled softly, holding out an empty hand. I slipped my fingers into it, and he pressed a gentlemanly kiss to my knuckles before turning to gaze out the window. I did the same, letting our linked hands rest on the seat between us.

After a moment, his fingers began to slide languidly along mine, rubbing smoothly up to my fingertips, then back down to the vees where they met my hand. Back and forth, up and down, sending threads of fire spreading up through my arm to my shoulder, then on to the back of my neck. I continued to stare out the window, the thumbnail of my opposite hand trapped between my teeth. His fingertips began to trace the back of my hand, feather-light touches over every rise and valley. Occasionally his fingers would circle my wrist, as if to check my pulse, which was indeed beginning to race. He turned my hand over and began his delicate dance on my palm, and I swallowed hard, closing my eyes. My own fingers twitched up, brushing against his knuckles, and he gently pushed them back down. Slowly, his thumb and forefinger closed around the tip of my middle finger, and I inhaled sharply as he began to stroke, my mind filling with erotically parallel images. I shifted my thighs against one another, seeking some measure of relief as my arousal began to pool between them, and I bit down on my lower lip as his quiet chuckle floated on the air between us.

I was near panting with need by the time the door to my suite closed behind us, and he welcomed the undulation of my body against his as we kissed, long and deep. “My sweet Michelle,” he whispered against my lips, his hands cupping my ass. “So easily excited.” Once I might have heard those words as indictment, but now they flowed over me as praise. Unable to stop myself, I slid my hand down his body, palming his cock as it stirred beneath his fly. He closed his eyes, his throat clicking audibly as he swallowed, and when he opened them, his pupils were blown so wide the black nearly swallowed the blue. His hands grasped my shoulders and he pulled me along as he backed up to the desk. He leaned against it, and nodded silently as I moved to kneel in the sprawl of his legs.

His fingers combed tenderly through my hair as I unbuckled his belt, then unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks. He wore nothing beneath them, and I danced my lips over the taut flesh below his navel as I eased them down his legs. His erection was rising rapidly, and I closed my hand around it, giving him a firm caress from base to crown. My thumb came to rest against the small cleft below the head, still concealed by his foreskin, and I rubbed gently, small, slow circles. His breath hissed quietly through his teeth, and I pressed a firm kiss to his tip. My lips came away wet, and I looked up at him through the fringe of hair across my forehead as I glided my tongue over them, the salty-sweet tang of his pre-come making me shiver. His Adam’s apple bobbed briefly in his throat, his grip in my hair tightened ever so slightly. “Michelle…”

I couldn’t help but smirk, and his eyes narrowed in challenged amusement. But before he could speak another word, I slid the tip of my tongue up under the protective skin, tasting him with slow, swirling strokes. “Oh, fucking hell,” he gasped, gripping the edge of the desktop as he arched reflexively. I could feel the blood surging to fill him to his fullest, and I opened my mouth, allowing his body’s own reaction to push him inside. Once I could feel pressure against my palate, I hollowed my cheeks, sucking lightly, lapping at the ridge that ran the length of the bottom of his cock with my tongue. He bucked forward slightly, and I relaxed my jaw to take him deeper.

He moved with slow deliberation, taking pleasure while testing my limits, stroking his fingertips over the cartilage of my ears in encouragement. My eyes met his once more, and his smile was transcendent. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are with my cock in your mouth?” I lowered my lashes demurely, then sighed against his skin as his hands moved to my neck, tilting it to a more accommodating angle. He slid himself back, then forward, then back again, and I moaned weakly as another drop leaked onto my tongue. He withdrew completely, his thumb tracing over my lips, his gaze blue embers. “Can you take more, love?”

My teeth worried my lower lip briefly as I considered his question. I wasn’t at all sure of the answer; it had been ages since my last romance, and I’d never been a natural at deep-throating to start. Add to that Tom’s length and girth… But when I looked at his face, the desire he had for me, the confidence he had in me, and the command he had over me, all I wanted to do was please him. “I can try, Tom… I want to try.”

“My beautiful girl,” he murmured, and I literally purred under the stroke of his hand. He brushed his fingers over my lips again, then slowly pushed two of them into my mouth. I swirled my tongue around them, wetting them, then took a deep breath as he carefully pressed deeper. My throat hitched briefly when he brushed the back of my tongue, but his hand in my hair stroked soothingly. “Breathe, darling,” he murmured, reaching further, tilting my head to ease the passage. I closed my eyes, concentrating, and he withdrew. “Again,” he murmured, and I nodded.

He fingered my mouth for a few long moments, carefully adding a third. All the while he petted me, played with my hair, cooed and praised me until I felt like I was floating. Finally, he removed his hand and lowered it to his cock, slicking its length with my saliva. I didn’t wait for him to ask or instruct, I put my hands on his hips and closed my lips around his head, suckling sweetly. His chuckle fell around me like rain, and he rocked shallowly into me, warming me up. When hunger for him began to consume me, I shifted my head and pushed out my tongue, then used my grip on his body to pull him more fully into my mouth. He groaned lightly, his head falling back on his neck. His head was rubbing against the threshold of my throat, and I coughed a little, my eyes tearing as I willed myself not to gag. He pulled back, stroking my cheek. “Relax, darling,” he whispered. “You can do it.”

I nodded and took another shuddering breath. We reprised the dance once, twice, three times with the same result, and I whimpered in frustration. “Shhh, Michelle,” he wiped away the tears that were siding down my cheeks. “You’re doing brilliantly,” he reassured me. “Just trust me… give me a little more. You can do it, I know you can.” He waited for my posture to relax, then pushed between my lips once more. I closed my eyes, focusing on my other senses: the scent of his skin, more enticing now that he was perspiring a little, the sound of his breathing, tightly controlled huffs, and the taste of him, sweet and salty and smooth. He pressed against my resistance, and I mewled, tears again sliding form beneath my closed lids. His hands closed gently around the base of my skull, and his voice… _God, that beautiful, velvety voice_ … Soothing, urging, encouraging, and my body gave in, slack and pliable. His groan was bliss breathed into sound as his head slid into my throat and I swallowed him to the hilt.

“Oh, God, Michelle,” he whispered hoarsely. I slid my hands around to his ass, pushing him closer before leaning back, silently begging him to fuck my mouth. He obliged with measured and careful undulations, losing himself briefly in the pleasure I was so desperate to provide. Before long, I could feel the muscles in his thighs beginning to twitch, could hear his breathing speed up and stutter. He moved to pull away from me, but I tightened my grip, refusing to let go. “Michelle,” he rasped, “I’m going to… oh, God… are you certain?” My answer was a warm hand between his legs, cupping and massaging the heavy sack that lay between them. His breath left his throat in a harsh bark as his semen flowed into mine in hot, heavy streams. Swallowing was easier than I expected, but I still gagged and sputtered a little, feeling the fluid escape the corners of my mouth in a few small drips.

He dropped to his knees on the floor beside me, breathing raggedly. I barely had time to wipe my mouth with the back of my hand before he was devouring it with his own, his kiss tongue and teeth and pure possessive passion. I curled my fingers into his hair, basking in the glow of his release, his approval. When our lips parted he fell back, lying on the floor with an arm thrown over his eyes as his respirations returned to normal. Smiling to myself, I scooted down, removing his shoes, his socks, and sliding his trousers off as well. He laughed as I pushed them aside and crawled back up next to him, cuddling into his arms. He lifted his head and glanced down at his half undressed state. “Guess I’m not going anywhere, eh?”

I shrugged as his fingers pianoed up and down my arm. “We could move to the bed, if you like.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that,” he hummed, kissing my forehead.

We helped each other to stand, then crossed into the bedroom, arms around one another. When we reached the bed, I slid my hands up his chest and over his shoulders, pushing his suit jacket off. He tugged his tie loose and I fumbled open the buttons on his shirt. Once he was fully disrobed he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling me to stand between his knees. His fingers teased over my breasts as he pressed a kiss to my belly, catching the sash of my wrap dress in his teeth. He tugged and the tie loosened, the fabric falling open and slithering down to pool at my feet. He smiled in appreciation as he took in my lingerie, matching satin and lace edged with flirty little bows. “You do love your purple, don’t you?”

I bit teasingly on my little finger. “Don’t you?” I twisted and turned a bit, offering him every view of each curve.

“Do I ever,” he growled, burying his face in my cleavage as he groped for the hooks at my spine.

“It’s in the front,” I giggled, reaching to take his hands and guide them to his goal.

“Cheeky,” he scoffed, landing a playful smack to my backside, making me jump and squeal. Only then did he mould my breasts to the shape of his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the swollen buds of my nipples. I sighed longingly, and his fingers flipped the clasp open with ease. Cold air hit my already flushed skin, pebbling it further, rendering it all the more sensitive when he dragged the wet heat of his tongue over it. He suckled hungrily at my left nipple, then its twin, smiling up at me as my body leaned towards his touch. “Delicious,” he murmured, “but not the part of you I want to taste right now.”

I began to quiver, and he took me in his arms, moving me easily onto the bed next to him. He crawled above me, taking my hands and guiding them up under the pillow beneath my head. He kissed me deeply, his tongue finding every corner of my mouth as his hands slid down my body. He cupped and squeezed my breasts once more, his lips and tongue following close behind. I rolled my eyes shut as he tickled his way down my belly, and I shifted my hips as he dragged the elastic of my panties down my thighs. Once they were off, he settled between my legs, and I fisted the pillow as his warm breath whispered over my dripping folds. “So sweet,” he brushed a feather light kiss at the apex of my mound, another to my labia. “So soft.”

“Oh, God… Tom…”

“Shhh,” his fingers massaged my outer lips. “Patience, little one.” I whined through my nose and he nipped my inner thigh with his teeth. I bit back a cry and pressed my head back, focusing on my breathing until I felt steady once more.

No sooner had I relaxed when his fingers spread me wide and he tongued a deep, wet stripe up the center of my folds. My body bowed off the bed and he did it again, dipping into the tight ring of muscle at my entrance. He hummed against my throbbing flesh, as if I were the most delectable thing he’d ever tasted, and I shuddered as the sound vibrated through my core. He took his time, lavishing slow, agonizing ecstasy over every petal, leaving nothing untouched, unsavored. His hands slid under me to cup my buttocks, tilting my pelvis so he could open me wider, taste me deeper. I tried to endure the exquisite torture without interference, but as he drummed my insides into a screaming frenzy, my body began to respond on its own, twisting and squirming and bucking beyond my control. His teeth nibbled cautiously at my inner labia, and he growled his endorsement, “That’s it, little one. Fuck yourself onto my tongue.”

His consent unlocked something inside of me and I began to writhe, pushing onto his mouth as enthusiastically as I would his cock.   His tongue slid in and out of me, his lips groping and teasing as I lost myself in the rhythm. Then, just as I felt the coil of my orgasm begin to tighten in my belly, he withdrew. I sobbed in frustration until I felt him tickle the tip of his tongue just underneath my clitoris. I gasped as I felt the little nub harden and swell, seeking more, then whimpered softly as he closed his lips over it. He began to suck softly, thrusting two long, strong fingers into me. I screamed in gratitude, thrusting desperately against his touch as the waves of climax dragged me under, into depths of sensation warm and bottomless and blazing with light more blinding than the sun.

I floated on those currents for long moments as he slowed his efforts, drawing out my pleasure, allowing me time to prepare for the void left behind when he finally stopped. He eased his body back up next to mine, folding me into his arms and seeking the weak kisses I had to offer. The taste of my body on his lips made me tremble, and he pulled the bedclothes up around us both.

“Sleep sweet, love…”


	10. Chapter 10

I woke to the delicious sensation of Tom’s hips spooned against my buttocks, his long fingers dancing patterns over the expanse of my back. The grey hue of the light spilling through the sheers told me it was early, still dark. I shifted a bit against my pillow, and he brushed a soft kiss against my ear. “Go back to sleep.” I shook my head and hummed a denial, reaching back and catching his arm, lifting his hand to my lips. I kissed every fingertip, every knuckle, his palm, his wrist, and savored the sensation of him snuggling closer to me. We lay in perfect silence for a long moment before he spoke again. “What time is your flight?”

I bit my lip, the thought of our impending goodbye making tears sting the back of my eyes. “Two.” I felt his exhale against the back of my neck. “What about you?” I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Are you leaving today too?”

“No,” he nuzzled the tip of his nose into my hair. “I’ve got two more days of press here. Then it’s on to Chicago, Nashville, Austin, Santa Fe…”

I quirked my eyebrow at that one. “Santa Fe…?” I repeated, giggling.

“Don’t ask me, I just go where I’m told,” he chuckled, kissing my shoulder. “After that it’s Denver, San Diego, and L.A. on the nineteenth. After that, I’m a free man for a bit.” His hand slid lower, his fingertip resuming its languid tracings, this time on my hip. “You could come with me.”

My teeth closed on my lip again, nearly hard enough to draw blood. I took a deep breath and held it a moment before blowing it out slowly. I rolled over to face him, caressing his stubbled cheek. “That’s a lovely offer, Tom.” I forced myself to meet his eyes. “But I can’t.” His jaw ticked ever so slightly, and he sighed. “I have to finish this assignment,” I explained, praying my words didn’t sound as defensive as they felt, “and I have a meeting with Grace the day after tomorrow to try and decide which one I’m going to take next.”

“Grace… your agent?” I nodded, relieved when he cast his eyes down, inspecting my fingers as he braided them through his own. “And you can’t do that over the phone or Skype or something?”

_I could._ “No, I really can’t. It’s just… easier… if it’s a face to face thing.”

He hummed softly, and my heart twisted in my chest at the resignation in his expression, even as he lifted our joined hands and dusted soft kisses over my skin. I wanted to backtrack, to recant, but I just couldn’t shape the words with my mouth. So I clung to him, resting my forehead against his, and trying desperately to figure out what came next. Sensing my misery, Tom pulled me close, his arms a barrier against time and circumstance, and I lay my cheek on his chest to listen to pulse that throbbed within.

After a few moments, something he’d said began to niggle away inside my brain. “Tom… you said you’re a free man on the nineteenth?” His voice rumbled beneath my ear as he affirmed, and my brow furrowed. “But… I thought you weren’t heading back to London until the thirtieth.”

“I’m not.” He confirmed. “Since the press junket ends in L.A., I figured I’d spend some time there. Catch up with some friends I don’t get to see very often.”

“Oh.” I circled a fingertip around his nipple as he kissed the top of my head. “Big plans?”

“Mmm, not really,” he idly twisted a lock of my hair.

“Because, you know,” I pushed myself up on my elbow. “You’re always welcome in Belhaven.”

His eyes began to shine a little, and the corner of his mouth quirked in a grin. “I am, eh?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I nodded. “I mean, my condo is tiny. But it’s a nice, private neighborhood… it’s a stone’s throw from the beach.” The more I spoke, the more I knew I needed him there, in _my_ world, in _my_ home, in _my_ bed. It was the only thing I could think of that might let me see if the fantasy I’d been living for the last couple of days had any hope of surviving beyond the walls that sheltered us now, outside the city that had provided so perfect a stage for the hasty first act of our romance. A small voice in the back of my head gnashed its teeth, hissing that I was being selfish and unfair. I closed my ears, reminding myself that he had not yet accepted the invitation and vowing that, if he did, I would redeem myself for any manipulation a dozen times over.

“I don’t know,” he narrowed his eyes. “Barbeque is all right, but I don’t think I’m _that_ mad for it.”

“Well,” I tossed my hair and let a touch of the accent that I usually tried to shed creep into my words. “That’s because you’ve never had proper _Carolina_ barbeque, sugar, bless your heart.” He threw his head back and laughed, and I couldn’t resist running a finger along the sinew of his throat. “Besides, there’s more than just barbeque. There’s more fresh seafood than you can shake a stick at.”

“Fair enough,” he propped an arm behind his head. “But isn’t the coast quite chilly this time of year?”

“It can be,” I admitted. “That’s why I have a fireplace,” I concluded in a purr. “And besides,” I nudged him onto his back, draping my body over his. “If it gets really cold, you’ll always have me to warm you up.”

He growled low in his throat, his palms caressing their way down my sides. “You should have led with that, sweet,” he murmured, nipping at my bottom lip. “It would have saved you some breath.” He kissed me hungrily, perfectly in control despite being pinned beneath me.

When we came up for air, I gazed down at his face, trying to read his mind through the ocean of his eyes. “So… you’ll come, then?” He nodded, smiling, his hands slipping down to pull my thighs up over his hips so that I was straddling him. I could feel his erection rising between us, the heat of his skin sending a flush of desire through my body even as it sent a flash of guilt through my brain. “And… you’re sure I’m not ruining any other plans? I mean, I know you aren’t stateside often, and when you are it’s almost always for work. And I know your friends love you, and you love them, and I’d hate to screw any of that up…”

He was chuckling when his hands grabbed my neck and pulled my head down, stopping my words with a quick thrust of his tongue between my lips. I indulged in the kiss briefly before trying to finish my ramble, only to squeak when his palm swatted me briskly on my backside. “Stop your babbling,” he commanded. “I want to watch you ride my cock.”

I flushed at once. “Tom…”

“No argument, love.” His hands on my shoulders pushed me upright as his hips rolled deliciously beneath me. “I can feel how hot and wet you are, and if I have to let you go today, I want something sinfully sweet to remember when I close my eyes.” He undulated again, the movement sliding his length along the seam of my folds. I knew, if I looked down, I’d see his skin glistening with my juices. The thought made every muscle below my waist clench and vibrate, and he groaned as a new surge of arousal dripped from my body onto his cock. “Michelle,” the familiar note of warning that I was starting to adore edged into his voice, “don’t make me wait.”

Reaching down between us, I wrapped my fingers around his shaft, pumping the velvety skin in long lazy strokes as he tore open a condom. I took it from him, relishing his hiss of enjoyment as I slid it into place, then let his cock lay against his stomach. I rocked my hips over him, slicking him up, feeling a surge of power when his head fell back on his neck, his jaw clenched in need. He recovered quickly and sat up, his long arms seizing my wrists and pinning them at the small of my back. “I said,” he caught my bottom lip between his teeth and tugged gently. “Don’t make me wait.”

Whimpering softly, I shifted my weight, lifting slightly to align his tip with my entrance. My eyes rolled back in my skull as I sank down, seating his full length in one slow, fluid stroke. We moaned in concert at the sensation, Tom falling back against the pillows, rapture etched across his gorgeous features. I writhed against him, gasping each time the head of his cock grazed my cervix. His eyes opened, bathing me in blue-green heat, and his warm palms came to rest against my thighs. I could feel his gaze moving over my body, watching every twitch and shudder as I twisted and rocked, sliding him deep, lifting up and away, then thrusting down to take him deep again. His hands cupped my breasts, his fingers tugging at my nipples until I mewled in pained delight.

“Lean back, darling,” he urged, his voice dark honey. “Show me everything.”

His gaze held mine as I obeyed, my hands gripping his legs for balance as I worked my body over him, clenching and flexing the muscles that held him until he growled deep in his throat. “Touch yourself, Michelle,” he directed. “I want to watch you come on top of me.”

I could feel my blush spreading from the roots of my hair to the base of my spine, over my throat and breasts and belly. I’d never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and yet so willing. It felt wonderful, transcendent. Even the embarrassment that burned my cheeks as I slid my fingers against my slippery, swollen clit thrilled me to my core.

“That’s it,” Tom’s voice, raspy with excitement. “Oh, Michelle, show me. _Show me_ …”

I bit down on my lips and closed my eyes, arching further so he could see my soft pink folds, glossy with my fluids as I stretched myself open. My clitoris caught in the vee of my fingers and I teased it lightly, squeezing, rubbing, my other hand cupping my breast, my fingertips dancing over my throbbing nipple. “Tom,” I groaned. “I’m so close.”

“Finish it, sweet,” he purred, lifting his hips to meet my every thrust. “Make yourself come for me.”

All thought and reason fell away; all that was left was sound and sensation. The airy gasps that fell from my lips. The muted grunts that punctuated his breathing. The wet impact of our bodies as they collided. My fingers on swollen, aching flesh that throbbed and sang beneath my increasingly desperate strokes. I sobbed his name and he thrust up, hard, lifting us both off the mattress and hitting the spot inside me that sent me soaring into the space between light and dark, floating on silver waves, reachable only by the velvet of his voice, the sweet warmth of his touch, and the crystalline blue of his eyes.

I don’t remember him coming inside me. I don’t remember collapsing into his arms, against his chest. What I do remember are his fingers, combing carefully through my sweat-dampened hair, trailing softly down the ridges of my spine. I lifted my head and he smiled, his bliss-drunk expression mirroring my own. “There you are,” he murmured, chuckling a bit as I pushed myself up shakily to kiss his mouth. “Feeling all right?”

“Feeling incredible,” I slurred, and he wound me in his arms, pulling the sheets up over my shoulder.

We dozed until my alarm buzzed at nine-thirty, my eyes filling with tears at the sound. He soothed me tenderly, helping me collect my things before joining me once more in the shower. We held one another under the spray, tracing the rivulets that ran down our skin as he rocked me in his embrace. He was dressed and on the phone when I emerged from the bathroom, my wet hair in a snug braid, my face free of makeup I was certain I would just weep away anyway. I assumed he was engrossed in his conversation as I dressed and began to pack my carry on, so I jumped a little when his hand passed over my backside in an appreciative caress. “Love those jeans,” he mouthed with a wink and I laughed, giving him a suggestive little wiggle.

After breakfast in the hotel restaurant, Tom waited by my luggage in the lobby while I completed my check out, then held my hand as we walked out into the cold autumn afternoon. A limo was waiting at the door, and I immediately began to shake my head. “Tom, you don’t have to…”

“Shut up,” he whispered gruffly, pulling me into a rough kiss. “Get in.”

I slid into the backseat, determined to keep myself together. But once he was next to me, facing me, the sorrow I felt etched into his brow, I promptly fell apart. He gathered me into his arms, and that’s where I stayed, curled against him, until we’d been parked at the airport curb long enough for security to come knocking on the window. His fingers slipped beneath my chin, lifting my face to his. “My invitation still stands,” he whispered, brushing his lips against my forehead. “You can stay with me.”

I wanted to. I wanted to shred the plane ticket clasped loosely in my hand, to beg him to take me back to his hotel, to take me to every city and stop he’d have to work, to take me right there on the fine leather seats if he so desired. I wanted him, more than anything I’d ever wanted before in my life. And the kaleidoscope of emotion swirling in his eyes told me that I could trust in the fact that he wanted me, too.

But the icy little sliver in my gut twisted just right, reminded me who I was, who he was, prattled in an infuriatingly motherly tone: _if it’s meant to be…_

I took his face in my hands and kissed him, sealing my lips over his and drawing strength from the breath he exhaled into my lungs. “I have to get home,” I said with a watery smile. “I have a very special guest coming in a couple of weeks, and I have to make sure everything is perfect for him.”

He smiled in return, genuine affection and understanding. “He doesn’t need perfect, you know.” He brushed my bangs across my forehead.

“I know,” I nuzzled his cheek. “I know.”

We held each other’s gaze until another knock rattled at the window, then indulged in one last slow, sweet kiss. “I’ll miss you,” he murmured.

“I’ll miss you, too.” My voice was steady, even as my tears fell onto his cuffs. One more kiss and the door was opening, the driver sheepishly poking his head into the backseat. Tom slid from the car and offered me his hand, and we pressed together one last time before my fingers gripped the handle of my rollaway suitcase.

He lifted my other hand to his lips. Ever the gentleman. “Until Belhaven, then.”

“Until Belhaven.”


	11. Chapter 11

It had been seventeen days since I had seen Tom in person, and my stomach wrenched at the thought of how much I missed him. Never one to bat an eyelash at air travel, I had spent the first fifteen minutes of my flight home from New York emptying my guts into the tiny airplane toilet.

_What the hell did I just do?_

I splashed water from the faucet over my sallow cheeks and scrubbed a finger over my teeth and tongue. By the time I was buckled back into my seat, I was certain I’d made an enormous mistake; that in my absence, Tom would see our time together in the simplest, most reasonable terms. A fling, a distraction, an exercise in convenient chemical combustion. I cried softly into my sleeve the rest of the two hour journey. The cabbie that drove me to my door eyed me sympathetically in the rearview mirror but never asked a question, never spoke a word. I tipped him twenty bucks after he dropped my luggage on my front porch.

I had just plugged my cellphone into its charging dock and was searching for some tissue to blow my nose when it chimed, the chipper little text alert. My hand was shaking and tears doubled my vision, but I could read his name clear enough. I opened the message, and began to sob.

_VA flight 719_. _Depart LAX 23 Oct 7:18 am, arrive ILM 4:40 pm._

_My shirt smells like you. I don’t want to take it off._

 Laughing, crying, I hugged the phone to my chest. I tried to type out a response, but my stupid shaking fingers wouldn’t cooperate, even rendering my autocorrect useless. “Fuck it,” I giggled, pressing the icon to initiate a call. I scuttled into the bathroom, clearing my sinuses while the line rang, and rang again. And then my eyes closed, my heart exploding into a thousand butterflies inside my chest.

 “Hello, beautiful girl.”

And so began my seventeen days. Seventeen days where he called without fail every morning by eight, ruining any chance I might have to sleep in with details of dreams he’d had overnight, discussions about his agenda for the day, and his soft, teasing chuckle. Seventeen days of random texts that made me laugh out loud:

_Justin keeps talking about “the mystique of ordinary writing”; is that even a thing?_

_My glass says “Jameson” but my gut says “Pepto”. Should have stayed in tonight._

_I think I have realized, tragically too late, that I am indeed wearing the wrong pants._

_Christine refuses to believe we took that selfie lying down. Would you please tell her my aim really is that good in bed?_

Seventeen days of goodnight calls that set my teeth on edge, my skin needled with longing, my insides slick and hot and clenching inward to try and fill the aching emptiness.

In between, I tried to run my life. I finished the NYIFF article three days before my deadline, and the _VF_ editors accepted it with high praise, stating the “optimistic tone” and “sensually engaging” reporting had far exceeded their expectations. I had my meeting with Grace, who laid out a plethora of projects for me to choose from, more than a few of them requiring the editorial style I had built my career on. “You can’t keep running from a challenge, Chelle,” she said over her DKNY reading specs. “You’re going to burn yourself out before you know it.” I thanked her, tucking several of the contracts into my bag before I left.

And then, with only four of my seventeen days left to go, I hauled out my gear and shut myself in the bathroom. Under the red lights he emerged, the crinkling laugh lines that cornered his smile, the graceful sinew that ran through his hands, the blue embers that flickered inside his eyes. I dipped him into the sink, watched the liquid coax his features to the surface, hung him side by side with himself to drip until he was suitable for framing. Every shot became my favorite, every memory adding to the depth, the color, the landscape.

I was down to the last negative, swirling the matte in the chemical balm, when I found myself staring at… myself. My breath caught in my throat as the picture swirled into focus. He must have knelt next to me, the bed level with the lens. I was lying on my stomach, the swell of my breast pressed flat against the mattress, the sheet caressing over my hip. My arm was draped over the pillow, my hair tumbled down my back and shoulder. Deeply asleep, my features relaxed, my lips curled in a small, secret smile. Tears filled my eyes as, for a moment in my tiny guest bathroom, I saw myself the way Tom saw me.

In that moment, I knew that I loved him.

I finished processing the photo with trembling hands, then stepped out into the natural light of the hall. I pulled my mobile from my pocket and tapped out my message. _I miss you._ It was four o’clock in L.A., the last day of the press tour, and I knew he’d be in the thick of things. So I jumped a little, startled, when my phone buzzed back almost immediately.

_I miss you. It’s all I can do to stay off of VA’s website and NOT change that bloody departure date to tomorrow._

I giggled to myself. _Zach and Evans would kick your ass. They paid through the nose for those Lakers tickets._

_You hate the Los Angeles Lakers._

He wasn’t wrong about that. _True, but I don’t hate you. I’d like you to arrive in one piece, please. Dick un-punched._

I pictured him throwing his head back in laughter. _Point taken. Did I mention I miss you?_

_Sounds vaguely familiar._ I sighed. _Go be Tom Hiddleston. And call me tonight._

I could almost feel his purr against my neck. _Wouldn’t miss it for the world, darling._

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *         

The thunderheads were threatening in the distance as I surveyed my work with a critical eye, tucking an errant strand of hair behind my ear. I had washed the new linens three times before putting them on the bed, wanting to ensure a soft and welcoming touch. The curtains had been beaten free of dust and tied back, and I’d even managed to organize the chaos behind my closet door into something resembling more a wardrobe and less a hurricane wake. Satisfied, I moved back out to inspect the rest of the house, finally hugging my arms across my chest to calm my nerves. My eyes lit on the mantle clock: 2:17 pm. Less than three hours to go.

I busied myself in the kitchen for awhile, tenderizing beef and chopping vegetables for a stew-like recipe of my father’s creation. I filled the Crockpot, then set the potatoes to slow roast. Finally, scowling at the clock and its stupidly sluggish hands, I grabbed a book from the shelf and tucked myself into my oversized leather armchair. I set my cellular on the arm, display up, and tried to read. I was absurdly unsuccessful, barely scanning a line before my eyes darted to the mantle clock, the mobile, and back again.

I was just about to give up when the crunch of gravel under tires made every hair on my body stand at attention. My heart began to hammer in my chest and my stomach coiled and uncoiled beneath my skin like a snake preparing to strike. _Calm down, calm down… just another minute or two._ I tousled my hair and smoothed the front of my dress, listening as a car door opened, closed. Masculine voices, muffled bywalls and wind and distance, and I realized he must be talking to the driver. And then, that effervescent laugh, my complete and utter undoing.

_Fuck it._

I launched myself from my seat and scampered to the front door, holding my breath as I dragged it open.

The cab was pulling away, and he was halfway to my doorstep, well-worn jeans, white v-neck t-shirt under a thick black knit sweater. Two or three days of ginger scruff dusted his chin and jaw. He’d had a haircut, the sides trimmed close and smooth, the errant auburn curls blowing about the top of his head on the crisp afternoon breeze. His eyes met mine, eating me up, his lips curling in a smile that mirrored the elation bursting through my chest. He pulled his rolling suitcase behind him, a garment bag slung over one arm as he climbed the few steps to my front porch. “Hello, beautiful girl.”

I barely had time to breathe his name before he’d swept us both through the door, kicking it closed as his bag hit the floor with a muffled thump. And then he was in my arms, warm and solid and _finally there_. His hands circled my waist as his lips sealed over mine, and my mouth filled with the taste of him; vanilla, mint, and musky sweetness. I could smell the chill of the autumn wind in his hair and on his clothes; and on his skin, nutmeg and sweet orange. The force of his kiss bent me backward, and I clung to his shoulders for balance. I could feel his fingers moving over my buttocks, groping at my skirt, bunching the fabric in his fists. “Tom,” I whined prettily when his mouth left mine, burning a hot, wet trail to the hollow beneath my ear. “I was going to behave…”

His velvety “Eheheheh” tickled at my neck and I shivered. “That’s all right, love,” he rumbled, biting down at the juncture of my shoulder and sucking briefly. “I’ll misbehave for the both of us.” With that, he gathered the back of my dress in his grip, and I gasped as the purr of tearing fabric filled my ears. I moved on instinct, yanking my arms from the sleeves as he snapped open the clasp of my bra as well. Wool and lace fell to the floor and his hands cupped my breasts, pushing them together so that he could easily drag his tongue from one nipple to the other.

I arched wantonly into his mouth, plunged my fingers into his hair. He dropped his hands to my thighs, lifting me off the floor and guiding my legs around his waist. His lips latched onto my left nipple as he carried me to the armchair I’d abandoned only seconds before, sinking to his knees in front of it. He set me carefully upon it, his fingers hooking into the waistband of my panties and dragging them down. Once he had me completely naked, his hands caught my ankles, and he hooked my legs over the chair arms so that I was spread wide, on display. His stubbled scraped fire into my flesh as he pressed open- mouth kisses to the swell of my belly below my navel.

“God, I’ve missed the smell of orchids clinging to your skin,” he growled. “And the salted-honey flavor of you on my lips.” He dipped his mouth between my legs, and I clawed the leather beneath my fingers as he parted my folds with his tongue. I knew I was saturated, arousal flooding untapped over the tender petals he explored, and I flushed with a brief flicker of embarrassment until I realized he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the wetter I became, the more focused and purposeful his ministrations, as if he were determined to melt my every bone and sinew into molten liquid he could drink into himself until slaked . The motherly nag clamored in the back of my mind, demanding that I slow him down, stop him, maintain some visage of control and poise. But the burgeoning vixen that Tom had been crafting with the gentle coaxing of his nature and the smooth, reassuring heat of his hands easily shouted her down. Before I was fully aware, I had canted my hips upward, offering him every inch of me to plunder at will.

His chuckle was pure triumph, and it vibrated through my core. “I think,” he lifted his gaze to mine, Loki and Eros coupled in his chiseled features, “this sweet little cunt missed me as well.” My eyes blew wide, my vision blurring under the wave of pure erotic thrill his words poured over me. “Don’t you agree?” He continued, cocking an eyebrow as if he truly expected an answer. All I could do was nod, my breath hitching so irregularly in my chest that I feared wasting any of it, even on a single syllable “yes”, would drag me into unconsciousness.   He seemed satisfied, his gaze lowering to his task once more. “Missed the way I love to kiss these sweet little lips,” he put his words into action, the contact as chaste as a schoolboy. “The way I love to taste you, outside and in.” His tongue swept over me in long, forceful strokes, my sex blossoming beneath his touch, until I was so open it was effortless for him to slide it in and out of my entrance, the tight ring of muscle contracting in a vain attempt to hold him within. “The way I love to suck on this hard little clit.” His lips closed around the throbbing bud, and as he began to suckle, my lungs finally gave in, pushing all my air out in a keening wail the shape of his name.

The sound unleashed something in him, and he buried his face in my throbbing wetness, combining all his previous efforts into a maddeningly random pattern of debauchery. He would dance me along the razor’s edge, pushing me closer and closer to the abyss below, only to draw me back, shift the tempo, and start again. The leather began to squeak obscenely beneath me as my juices dripped down the curve of my ass, making my skin slip against the cushion, and we both groaned at the sound. “Please, Tom, please,” I begged him breathlessly, my legs beginning to shake uncontrollably.

His eyes lifted, full of stern expectation. “Tell me what you need, Michelle.”The dark command in his voice, the way his tongue caressed my name. I would have said anything, done anything. But I knew all he wanted from me in that moment was the truth, pure honesty, my desire laid before him as naked as my body. “I need to come in your mouth, Tom,” I sobbed softly. “Please…”

I saw a dozen emotions wash across his face, surprise, happiness, amazement, lust, longing, all unified by satisfaction and undeniable pride. He didn’t hesitate, sliding two fingers inside me and pressing my g-spot straightaway while his lips closed around my clit once more. My heart began to pound in the rhythm he set, thrusts of his hand, draws from his mouth, every measure underscored by the teasing little flickers of his tongue. I let my head fall back on my neck, dug my nails into the leather of the armrests, and flew untethered into surge after surge of ecstatic freefall.

My orgasm was still vibrating through me when he rose up, fly open, sheathed and throbbing cock in hand. I could taste myself in his mouth as he filled me with one brutal thrust of his hips, and I ate up my essence and his moans as he pulled me from the chair into his lap. I had never seen him that way before, wild and desperate and charging towards release without any thought of control or finesse, and I had never wanted him more. Wrapping my arms and legs around him, I surrendered utterly, willing him to take me, to use me, to empty himself into me and allow me to breathe it back into him renewed. His body began to shake in my embrace, and his mouth broke away from mine. “Michelle… oh God… Michelle…”

“Yes, Tom,” I stroked his hair, rained kisses over his face and neck. “Yes… yes… yes…”

“Oh, _fuck…_ ” He thrust as deep as he could before freezing, rigid against me, and I could feel every jerking spasm of his cock as he released into the condom that kept his flesh from mine. His head was thrown back, his eyes closed, and as I groped tenderly at his throat with my lips, his shoulders began to hitch, his Adam’s apple bobbing ever so slightly. I had already figured it out when the first drops fell against my cheek.

He was crying.


	12. Chapter 12

I wasn’t sure at first how to respond, other than to hold him as tightly as I could, stroking his hair as he buried his face in my neck. I didn’t know where the flood of emotion was coming from, so I couldn’t guess what his response to it would be. Would he be embarrassed? Angry? Would he acknowledge it at all, or simply brush it aside, counting on my discretion to let it fade into “That didn’t just happen”? I could feel the threat of panic rising from my belly to lock down my throat; with mighty effort, I squashed it, concentrating on the heat of his chest pressed to mine, the barely-there sound of his exhales, and the gentle, soothing, back-and-forth rocking our bodies had settled into.

After a moment, Tom lifted his head to look at me, his eyes wet, a small, sheepish grin on his lips. “I am so sorry.”

I smoothed my hands over his face, wiping away his tears before covering his mouth tenderly with my own. I felt his hands splay across my back as he leaned into the kiss, and when we parted, I nuzzled his cheek with the tip of my nose. “Please don’t apologize.” I spoke firmly, searching his eyes with my own. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” He chuckled a little. “Michelle, sweetheart, I’m _wonderful_.” I could feel my face furrowing in confusion, which made him laugh a little bit harder. “I know, I know, bawling in your arms… not exactly the best way to show how happy I am…”

“No… I think I understand.” I did. I understood very well the tides of intense emotion that didn’t always allow a person their choice of expression when they crashed into shore. I just didn’t expect him to be the one drowning in the undertow. “Happy tears.”

He smiled against my mouth. “The happiest,” he murmured before kissing me once more. “You have no idea how hard it’s been to wait… how much I’ve missed you.”

“Oh,” I cocked my head at him, “I think I might have some idea.”

He narrowed his eyes, pondering, but I could tell from the quirk of his mouth he wouldn’t fully concede. I shivered in his embrace and he glanced down, his eyes widening as it occurred to him I was still completely naked. “Oh, God…” His hands flew to the buttons of his sweater and he yanked it off, wrapping it around my shoulders. The soft knit felt delicious against my skin, covering my arms and back. But the deep vee of the neckline, combined with the fact that the garment was made to fit a man a full foot taller than me, did little to cover my breasts, even when I buttoned it over my stomach. “Oh, _God_ …” He repeated, fumbling in his pocket for his phone.

“Oh, Tom… no…”

“Oh, Michelle, yes.” The no-nonsense tone of command had returned to his voice, and I raked my hands through my hair as he continued. “You are going to get that gorgeous ass back in that chair, and you are going to smile for me, and I am going to have one sinfully sweet secret, locked away in my phone, in case I ever have to be without you again.”

The dual voices in my head renewed their squabble, but only the vixen had Tom’s cerulean eyes and hungry grin on her side. Again, the dowager was shuffled off to a back corner, and I let him lift me back into the chair, tucking my legs up under me and adjusting the lapels of his sweater as best I could. He rose to his feet and backed up a bit, maneuvering his mobile until his face lit in satisfaction. “Just like that, love… perfect. Now think about everything I just did to you, and smile for me.”

He knew exactly how to get what he wanted, I had to give him that; I couldn’t stop my lips from curling up as my brain revisited every kiss, every touch, every welcome invasion. His own grin widened, his tongue peeking out from between his teeth, and I heard the camera click, then click again, and again. “Tom!” I squealed. “You said one!”

“I did,” he flashed his eyes, all puppy dog innocence. “But it’s only fair that I get a few to choose from.” The phone clicked a few more times and then he sank down into the chair with me, scooping me into his lap. “Look, darling,” he positioned the screen so we both could see. “Look at how beautiful you are.”

Just like that first morning in bed together, his aim, his sight, was perfect. I felt a foreign flush of conceit warm my cheeks as I realized, once again, he was right. Hair sexily disheveled, makeup just this side of smeared, the embrace of Tom’s sweater barely covering the pink buds of my nipples and the pale curve of my ass. Smiling shyly, freshly fucked, no regrets about either. He scrolled through the photos, deleting two outright that were blurred by motion, then a third where my hand had actually managed to obscure my face. He switched back and forth between the remaining three for a few long moments before turning to me, his expression pure mother-may-I. I laughed in resignation, resting my forehead against his temple. “You know what kind of hell you’ll catch if anybody finds those, don’t you, Disney prince?”

“No one’s going to find them,” he assured me. “They are all mine.” He kissed my cheek, “My lovely, little secret.”

I sat a little straighter. “Which reminds me,” I gave him a side-eye. “I know all about your other secret.”

Most people would flush with guilt at words like that, but Tom just looked confused. “What other secret, sweet?” I wriggled out of his arms and stood, pulling the hem of his cardigan down to the tops of my thighs, giggling at his appreciative growl. “Oh, I am going to have you in that jumper before the night is over, love, you mark my words:” I padded quickly down the hall, retrieving the box that lay on my dresser. He was still grinning goofily at his phone when I returned, his eyes lighting up like a child’s when I lay the package in his hands. “What’s this?”

“Open it,” I urged, chewing on my bottom lip. He turned it to and fro; admiring the embossed black wrapping, sliding his long, elegant fingers carefully under the lines of tape that held the seams together. “Oh, my God, Hiddleston,” I blew my bangs back off my forehead. “Your British is showing.”

He laughed heartily at that, finally peeling the paper away from the cardboard beneath. “Asprey?” His eyebrows lifted, impressed, and my belly erupted in excited fireworks. He lifted the lid, parted the tissue paper that lay within, and I bounced on the balls of my feet like a little girl as his breath caught in his throat.

The frame was simple, elegant, crafted from smooth and shining sculpted silver. It held an eight by ten copy of the shot he’d taken of me while I was asleep. “Michelle,” he looked up at me, his face a mixture of surprise and awed gratitude. “It’s perfect.” He traced his finger over the line of my arm in the photo, his cheeks coloring a bit. “You have every right to be angry with me for taking it without your knowledge…”

“Shhh,” I knelt in front of him, kissing his lips. “I’m not angry,” I assured him, resting my forehead against his.

_Don’t say” I love you”._

His eyes scoured my expression. “You’re certain?”

I nodded.

_You will ruin everything if you say “I love you”._

“Positive,” I smiled, caressing his jaw. “It was a bit of surprise when I saw it floating at the bottom of my processing pan…” He winced guiltily and I giggled softly. “But I have to admit,” I looked down at the picture myself. “It’s really beautiful.” I gazed into the tranquil heat of his blue eyes. “You’re quite the gifted photographer.”

He leaned close to nibble briefly on my bottom lip. “It’s easy when the subject is as lovely as you are.” He sealed our mouths together, his hand slipping under my hair at the base of my skull. I wanted to melt, but the mantra running through my brain ( _do not say it, way too soon; do not say it, way too soon)_ refused to abate. I knew Tom could see the war waging behind my eyes, feel it tightening my posture, and for a moment, I was terrified he was going to ask me what was wrong.He took a breath, his lips parted, poised to speak. But then he stopped, and I actually saw in his expression the moment he chose to let it go. He gifted me with a silent smile instead, and pulled me against him, guiding my head to his shoulder as he hugged me.

Relief flooded over me, and I pressed my face into the fragrant, masculine skin of his neck, gripping his t-shirt. I heard a tiny, “Thank you” fall from my lips, and when he murmured, “You’re welcome,” into my hair, we both knew we weren’t talking about his tender compliment.

I’d been given a reprieve, but I knew it wouldn’t last forever.

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“Michelle,” Tom’s voice, sleepy, but with a hint of stern warning. “You are far too twitchy.”

I scowled briefly at the ceiling. “I can’t help it,” I pouted. “I’m ticklish.”

We were laying on the mattress from my bed, naked in the firelight, Tom’s head pillowed on my stomach. He had disappeared after dinner and, during my clattering rush to get the dishes done, had managed to move it from my bedroom to the center of the living room floor. I had emerged from my hastily cleaned kitchen to find him reclining against the pillows, gazing into the now crackling fireplace with a small, relaxed smile curling his lips. His chest and feet were bare, his belt unbuckled, his fly open. He saw me and sat up, his smile widening, holding out a hand. “Come here, beautiful girl.”

I’d tiptoed to his side, shivering when his strong fingers twined through mine to pull me closer. He guided me to lie beside him, turning us both on our sides so that he could spoon against me. I pressed back against his chest as his arms encircled me, his chin hooking over my shoulder, his stubble scratching pleasantly against the crook of my neck. “Tom,” I sighed, my cheek coming to rest against my pillow. “I missed you so much.”

“I know, love,” he murmured, his lips brushing the corner of my jaw in a tender kiss. “I’m here now.” His arms tightened around me ever so slightly, and I closed my eyes, meting into his solid warmth. My intention was not to sleep; after all, we’d only been reunited a few hours. We had chatted endlessly while we ate, but there was still so much I wanted to ask him, so much I wanted to hear. And even if he wasn’t really up for talking, I’d been dying for days to simply drink in his presence, to lose myself in the ocean of his eyes, to gorge myself on the scent of his skin and the sound of his breathing. But it had been forever since I’d felt so relaxed: the relief that had come from our reconnection, and the respite from the ache that had subsided the moment his hands found my body, had served to drain so much of the tension that had come from missing him. Add to that the reassuring heat that radiated from his body into mine as he held me close; the effect was more powerful than any drug. It wasn’t long before I was drifting in a blue-black haze. Outside, the swollen clouds that had lingered in the skies began to spill, and the tap-tap-tap of their release against the roof and windows became the perfect lullaby.

I don’t know how long I dozed, drifting on the rhythm of the rain and Tom’s heartbeat against my spine. But it was still dark when I began to rouse to the most wonderful sensations: heat and damp, sweet tug, gentle thrust, soothing and urging at once. For a moment, I believed myself still asleep, my brain floating on the waves of some powerful dream. It was only the illumination from a distant flash of lightning that let me know my eyes were open, and that I was being drawn back to wakefulness by the careful ministration of Tom’s mouth and fingers. He had eased me onto my back beneath him, and I could feel the faint lingering sting of whisker burn along my throat. The left lapel of his sweater had been pushed aside, and his lips were closed around my nipple, suckling softly. His hand was between my legs, stroking lazily, one finger occasionally pressing up into me. “Mmm,” I hummed sleepily. “Tom…”

Cool air hit my flesh as he released me from his mouth, and I could feel his smile curling against the swell of my breast. “There you are,” he whispered, easing up to dip his tongue between my lips. The kiss was slow and searing, curling my toes and making me rise off the pillow so I could meet every sweep of his lips with my own. His free hand slipped behind my head, holding me to him, while its counterpart thrust deep, two fingers this time. My eyes flew wide, and he swallowed my squeak of surprised delight before releasing me. By now my eyes had adjusted to the dim, and I drank in the sight of him hovering over me, his chiseled features even more striking in the moonlight. He smiled at me, cutting his gaze south for a beat, his fingers inside me never missing their cadence. “You’re still wearing my jumper.”

I could feel my cheeks flushing, and I bit my lower lip in anticipation. “I am.”

He kissed me again, his tongue lapping at me hungrily. I was utterly boneless when he finally leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Roll over, sweetheart.”

My mouth went dry and my limbs felt leaden, but I obeyed, shivering at the sound of him stripping his jeans off his long legs. Once I was on my belly, the mattress dipped behind me as he moved, guiding me into the position he desired. My knees were pushed up, shoulder width apart, my cheek lay flush against the sheet, my hands buried beneath the pillow above my head. “So beautiful,” he mused, his palms running over the heavy knit, their heat easily bleeding through to warm my skin. His arm slid around my waist to raise my lower half higher, and I couldn’t hold back a moan as his taut abdomen pressed against my center, his cock like molten iron in the cleft of my ass. He rocked languidly, teasing me, enjoying the friction as he prepared the condom. Then he sprawled himself over my back, his lips tickling my cheek as he spoke. “Are you ready for me, love?”

I nodded, lifting my head to kiss him softly. “So ready, Tom,” I assured him.

I thought he would rise up to complete his penetration, so it was a lovely surprise when he stayed pressed close to me, using one hand to guide his erection while the other wrapped around my thigh to spread me to his liking. And then he was rocking, filling me to the hilt in one long and agonizingly slow stroke. His breath was warm and moist against my neck, and his hum of satisfaction made my eardrum rattle pleasantly. “You are so exquisite,” he brushed a kiss to my earlobe, “so perfectly tight… wet… and so warm.”

“Tom,” I moaned, bowing my body underneath him. The motion flexed and tightened the muscles that held him, and he grunted in response.

“Oh, sweet, it drives me crazy when you do that,” he growled. So, of course, I did it again, squeezing my pelvic floor with all the strength I had. He thrust sharply against the resistance, making me gasp and tremble, my head falling so I could close my teeth on my forearm. He rolled his body languidly, lazily, as if our union was the only thing in the world that mattered, and we had all the time in the world to indulge.

He shifted a bit, resting his forehead against my nape, his face buried in the center of my back. “Oh, yes,” I heard him chuckle. “You’re starting to sweat, love. You know what that means?” He moved his mouth to my other ear. “That means that every time I wear this sweater, from now on, I’m going to smell you on it. And I’m going to remember.” He lifted me up so that I was on all fours, slipping one hand beneath me, under the material, to caress and squeeze my breast. “I’m going to remember how it feels to slide into you, to fill you with my cock, to make you whimper and shake.”

“Oh, God, Tom…” I canted reflexively back towards him.

“I’m going to remember how delicious it feels, touching your body through my clothing, finding your skin under the fabric, so warm and soft.” His hand slid from my breast to cup me underneath my chin, slipping his index finger gently into my mouth. I sucked at it hungrily, and he pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Jesus… Michelle…”

Wrapping his other arm around my waist, he shifted us both, lifting me up, pulling me back to sit on his thighs. I splayed my back against his chest, my arms reaching back to hold him as we rocked. His hands pulled the vee of the sweater open, baring my breasts; his fingers captured my nipples, twisting and tugging until I was writhing desperately above him. “Tom,” I gasped. “Please… I need…”

His teeth scraped my neck on their way to my ear. “What, love? What do you need?”

I bit my lip briefly, covering his right hand with my own. “I need to come, please.”

He laughed quietly. “Show me, sweetheart,” he whispered, “show me how you want me to touch you.”

Blushing furiously, thankful for the dark, I guided his hand down my ribcage, past my belly. His fingers tickled gently through the small triangle of curls at my mound, sending a shiver through my core. Lower, and I pressed his middle finger against my clitoris, twisting my hips to meet the pressure. “Mmm,” he grinned at the responding flutter through the muscles that held him, the surge of my wet excitement that dripped down his flesh. He dipped us down to slick up our fingertips, then returned, pressing and relaxing against the hard little bud in time with the thrusting of his hips. “Show me more...”

We moved in concert, strumming my body closer and closer to crescendo as the rain outside continued to drip, the occasional flash of lightning casting a silvery-blue glow over our joined forms. Tom’s mouth never stopped working on my ear, my neck, his left arm hooking up over my shoulder to pull me more fully down into his thrusts. I could feel the wave of my climax cresting low in my stomach, and I lay my head back against his shoulder, eyes closed, his name falling from my lips like the drops splashing against the window. His fingers twined through mine, catching my clit between them, and the delicious tug and pull sent me rocketing over the edge, the cramping tightness of my body around his cock dragging him along for the ride. He called my name to the storm outside, answered by a long and sultry roll of thunder, and we collapsed together in a heap of tangled limbs and damp cotton wool.


	13. Chapter 13

After our senses unscrambled, Tom helped me slip out of his sweater: “Let me feel all that lovely skin against mine, love.” His hands were a cascade of caresses as we kissed, my face, my shoulders, my back. His mouth trailed over me with insatiable curiosity, smiling when my ticklish nature got the better of me, making me squirm and hitch away from his touch. He tasted his way down my throat, over my collarbone, down past my breasts to the softness of my belly. He pressed his lips to my navel, tracing the cup with the tip of his tongue. I giggled, combing my fingers through his silky curls. But the light-hearted sound died in my throat when his gaze moved lower, following his fingertips that were now tracing the thin, pale thread that ran the length of the ridge that jutted just above my pubic bone. I swallowed audibly when his eyes lifted to look into mine. “Tell me what this is.” His voice was soft and gentle, but it wasn’t a question.

I offered him a small smile. “It’s a scar.”

He stared at me a beat before laughing a little. “I realize that,” he murmured, kissing his way from one end of the blemish to the other as if to prove his point. “How did you get it?”

My eyes were stinging, my throat burning. I wanted to ignore the question. I wanted to lie. I wanted to do whatever it took to protect our perfect little cocoon of kisses and cuddles and smiles and sex and plans and promise.

I didn’t want to give him a reason to leave.

I saw his eyes darken as he watched me struggle, and his arm around my hips tightened just a little. “Michelle,” his voice like velvet, wrapping around me like a warm blanket. “Please tell me."

I sighed, willing the tears in my eyes to stay put. I spent long moments considering my words, trying to decide where to begin; my mom’s history, my own. I finally just blurted the punchline: “I had to have a partial hysterectomy when I was twenty-four.”

Tom’s expression remained carefully neutral, but his fingertips stroked the line in my skin once more. “A partial hysterectomy,” he repeated.

I nodded with a watery sigh. “I – uh… my mom,” I swiped at the single tear that slipped from the corner of one eye. “She had issues… female issues. Pretty bad ones. I guess I got some of them, too.” He was listening intently, his eyes never leaving mine, silently willing me on. “I was supposed to be a twin.”

"A twin?” He interrupted me, surprised.

I nodded again. “That… didn’t work out. But she had me.” I smiled a little at the memory of her sing-songing about her “Miracle Michelle” before yanking myself back to reality. I cleared my throat and tried to straighten my muddled thoughts. “When I was thirteen…” My throat locked down briefly, and I had to stop. I couldn’t bear the thought of watching his expression as I tried to describe the fear and confusion caused by the blood and the pain, the grief over the loss of any kind of normal coming-of-age, the terror that gripped me at the thought of my peers finding out I was on the pill and labeling me a slut. I shook my head to clear it. “Anyway, things would get better, and then they’d get worse, but then they’d get better again. I got used to the pattern, you know, found a really good doctor.” I averted my gaze before continuing. “I’d gotten engaged…”

“To be married?!?” Tom blanched, amused.

I gasped, then grabbed his pillow, smacking him with it. “Yes, to be married, you jerk!” It felt good to laugh as he fell to apologizing, peppering my abdomen with kisses, his grip on my waist refusing to let me roll or wriggle away. When my giggles subsided, he lay his cheek on my tummy once more, and I slid my fingers back into his hair. “As I was saying,” I glared at him playfully as he widened his eyes innocently, “my… issues… were starting to ramp up again, but I just chalked it up to,” I chewed on my lips as I groped for words, “honeymoon prep."

A dark look passed briefly over his handsome features, and I allowed myself to believe for a moment that it might have been jealousy. It comforted me, gave me the strength to push forward. “But it turns out it was something called an adenomyoma, and it was inside the muscle.” I drew in a hitching breath. “So one day I passed out at work and woke up sans uterus.”

"Michelle, my God,” Tom breathed softly. “I’m so sorry, love.”

I shrugged, smiling tightly, wiping the dripping corners of my eyes. “It’s not so bad. My doctor left my ovaries so I wouldn’t have to go through overnight menopause, and getting rid of everything else really did make a huge difference. I mean, I still have bad cycles every now and then and without the…” I blushed, “visual cue… I don’t always realize right away that that’s what’s wrong with me. But really, it’s so much better than it was.” I scratched my nails lightly over his scalp and he closed his eyes, once again burying his face in my stomach.

We lay in stasis for a while, listening to the rain tick out the silence, the occasional pop and hiss from the fireplace making me twitch ever so slightly beneath him. Finally, Tom turned his head to look at me once more. “Your fiancé,” his tone and expression were unreadable. “He left you?”

I shrugged, feeling fresh tears scald my cheeks. “We left each other.” I sniffled a bit, determined to be honest. “We’d talked so much, made so many plans. I knew what he wanted. He said he’d be okay, and I know he would have tried. But every time he looked at me…” I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. “There was literally a hole inside me, and I knew he couldn’t see past it. The way he looked at me; on good days, it was regret. On okay days, it was pity. And on bad days, it was disappointment. It wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t a bad guy. But he looked at me, and he saw me exactly the way I saw myself: hollow.” I forced myself to meet Tom’s eye. “And I hated him for it.” His expression was thoughtful, and I held his gaze as long as I could bear it. Then I looked up, watching the shadows the fire cast across the ceiling and scrubbing my hands over my face. “So,” I offered him another taut smile. “Now you know what it is, and how I got it.”

He nodded silently, his fingers still circling lightly over my belly. I knew what he was thinking, what he had to be thinking. Empty. It was empty now, and it always would be. There was no “Miracle Michelle” in my future, and if he tied himself to me, there wasn’t one in his, either. For one brief, ugly moment, I hated him. More than anything I’d ever hated before. I wanted to scream at him, to curse at him for building me a beautiful fantasy to live in then and then tearing it down with his curiosity and his questions. More than anything, I wanted to kick him out, to force him out of my bed and out of my home, to make him leave right then before he could claim any more of my heart to take with him when he decided to go on his own.

The moment passed just as he pushed himself up off of me, his eyes boring into mine. I began to shake from head to toe. “It’s okay, Tom,” I whispered. “It’s okay.”

His brow furrowed a bit. “What?”

“I understand, I do. It’s too much, and it’s too soon. But you asked! And I didn’t want to tell you but I didn’t want to lie. And I probably should have told you before, but that would have been really too soon and I just… you wanted to be with me… and I wanted to be with you… so much…”

An inarticulate growl fell from his lips as he lunged, pouncing on me and grabbing my wrists, pinning me to the mattress. His eyes blazed with a fire that leveled me, and I twisted my head to the side, squeezing my eyes shut. “Look at me, Michelle.” I shook my head, my face screwed into a knot like a pouty child. “Look at me!”

His voice was a mixture of entreaty and demand; I was helpless to resist. What I saw in his eyes alarmed me more than anything I’d seen swimming in their indigo depths before. _God, no, Tom… not this. Anything but this, please. Scream at me, hit me, walk out on me, please. Just… not this_.

He could hear my silent pleas, I know he could. And the bastard ignored them.

“Michelle,” he murmured. “I love you.”

“No.” I threw my head from side to side in denial. “No.”

“I love you.”

"NO!” I screamed it at him, wrenching my arms under his grip.

He refused to let me go; if anything, his expression calmed, sweetened. “I love you.”

“No.” I began to sob.

“Oh, God, Michelle,” his smile was salvation, and he began to trace his lips along the trails of my tears. “I do love you. I do. I love you.” I stared at the ceiling as he continued to soothe me, my mind reeling, feeling more lost, more vulnerable than I could have possibly imagined. Dowager and vixen had fled, and all that was left was me: the woman who’d stood shy and speechless on those windy New York steps, laid in that lonely hotel bed, taken that first tentative step towards a man who never should have looked at her twice, simply because he’d held out his hand. And she was terrified.

I twisted my head beneath him, and he rose up, looking down on me. “Tom…”

“Yes, sweet?”

“I know what you’re thinking.”

That infuriating right eyebrow rose inquisitively, and he smiled warmly. “You do, eh?”

I steeled myself, refusing to fall into the endless blue of his eyes, the perfect bow of his mouth. “You’re thinking it doesn’t matter, but it does. It does matter. And even if doesn’t matter now, it will eventually, which means it really does matter now, which means we would just be pretending it doesn’t matter…”

“My babbling little fool,” he chuckled before returning to his task. I continued to resist, speaking a constant stream of nervous chatter into the air as he laughed and kissed and nuzzled my cheeks until my tears were gone and my voice was faltering. I could taste the fading salt of my sorrow when he sealed his lips over mine once more, his kiss drawing the last of my reticence like venom from a wound. I whined softly until his hand caressed my jaw, and the gentle pressure of his thumb against my throat crumbled my defiance into ash. He claimed me anew with that sweet searing kiss, and I was whispering “I love you” into his mouth long before he released me.

He locked his eyes with mine and I said it again, watching his face crinkle and flush with pleasure. “So, little mind-reader,” he murmured, tracing a fingertip along the line of my clavicle. “Can you tell me what I’m thinking now?”

I trembled a little under the intensity of his gaze, and while I could guess, my previously overactive mouth had fallen stupidly silent.

It didn’t appear to faze him; he took one more long taste of my mouth before sitting up. Bending my knees so that my feet were flat on the mattress, he spread my legs and knelt between them. I watched him take his cock in his hand, already fully erect and weeping with arousal. He stroked it lazily, his fingers a perfect circle of tension, the thumb of his other hand finding my clit and rubbing it in tandem until I could feel my own fluids dripping down onto the sheet beneath my hips. “What about now, Michelle,” he purred gently. “Can you tell me now?”

I nodded slowly. “You’re going to fuck me.”

His velvety chortle made my insides cramp and tighten with longing. “Oh, love,” he smiled. “I’m not just going to fuck you.” Another stroke of his hand, another swirl of his thumb. “For the first time,” he aligned his head with my slit. “I’m going to feel you.”

My eyes went wide as I realized what he meant, and naked hunger for him sank into my gut like a knife. It occurred to me that the teasing of his hands on our bodies was more than just a sensual warm-up, it was a subtle stall as he waited for my permission. I didn’t trust my voice to give it, so I lifted my hips in wordless offering.

His face was a study in tortured control as the smooth skin of his swollen head parted my folds and pushed into my entrance. His eyes closed briefly as my body drew him in, inch by deliciously slow inch. His jaw ticked with the effort of his restraint, and he let a soft groan fall from his lips. “Fuck, Michelle,” he murmured, “you feel incredible.” I whimpered quietly, wanting to grab him and drag him to me until he was seated in me completely, aching to feel the pain-pleasure twinge of his crown against my cervix, the belly-twisting thrill of his pubic bone grinding against my clit. My fingers curled into the pillow on each side of my head until my knuckles blanched and I arched, begging him with my body.

Another moment, another small grunt from his throat, and he slid home, laying his full length against me. His tongue sought entrance, my lips granted, and we devoured each other slowly as he savored the feeling of my flesh holding him. He was still kissing me when he began to rock, grinding deeper for a beat before pulling back. He caught my bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently as I moaned in ecstasy. His hands slid up my sides, over my arms, and his fingers tangled through mine as he pinned my hands to the bed. The tip of his nose brushed my cheek, and I could taste his breath on my lips as he hovered over me. His eyes closed in long, slow blinks as he memorized the sensation of sliding back and forth inside me, his rigid length bare and throbbing against my walls. We both gasped a little when his head brushed my g-spot, and I hooked my legs behind his knees. He cocked an eyebrow, his lips curling in an intrigued smile. I lowered my lashes demurely, and used my newfound leverage to swivel my hips against him.

His reaction was immediate, delightful. His eyes blew wide and his grip on my hands tightened, his lungs stuttering briefly in his chest. I swirled my body again and his eyes squeezed shut, his head falling back on his neck, displaying the taut cords of his throat. I lifted my head, sealing my lips over his pulse point and sucking gently, teasing the flesh with my tongue. He thrust forward sharply and I yipped, but did not let go.

We rutted together hungrily until our skin glistened in the dying firelight, the air heavy and sweet with the scent of our efforts, clean sweat mingled with cedarwood and orchids, vanilla and amber. Tom’s lips and tongue on my mouth, my ear, my neck, and my breasts sent surge after surge of wetness to ease our grinding, but I could feel the first burning fingers of over-exertion sinking into my muscles. My heart fluttered irregularly when I realized those tiny bites of pain were only ratcheting my excitement higher, honing it to a needle-fine point, until every inch of me was quaking beneath him. “Tom,” I rasped. “Please…"

His head lifted to hover above mine once more. “Tell me, love.”

I knew what he wanted, what we both wanted. “Come inside me, Tom. Please, come inside me.”

He gripped my fingers tighter, clenched his jaw, pumped harder, faster, deeper. “Michelle…”

He locked his eyes on mine. I threw myself into their crystalline depths, praying to any power that might be listening that he was going under with me. “I love you, Tom,” I sobbed softly. “I love you.”

His face was daybreak, shining down at me from the darkness “I love you, too.” I struggled against him and he released my hands. I reached for him, my fingers tangling in his curls and bringing his mouth to mine. His arms slid underneath me and our bodies pressed together; I could feel his heart pounding against my own. He grunted softly into our kisses until the muscles in his thighs began to quiver. “Oh, God, Michelle…”

“Yes, Tom, please…”

“Michelle… sweet…” His endearments dissolved into inarticulate groans, and he drove himself against me, into me, until the resulting mix of pain and pleasure from his invasion cut every strand of control that held me open. I clamped down around him, not just my cunt, but my arms and legs as well, a full-body orgasm that shook me from head to toe. He was only a heartbeat behind me, and my eyes rolled back in my skull as the heat of his ejaculate bathed my inner walls in hot, pulsing spurts. He collapsed into my arms, breathing hoarsely, burying his face in the hollow beneath my ear. “Michelle,” he gasped against my sweat-soaked skin, making me shiver. “That was… that… I…”

I nodded, stroking my hands down his back. “I know, Tom.” I brushed a kiss against his temple. “I love you.”

“My beautiful girl.” My favorite three words from his mouth, about to be replaced. “I love you.”


	14. Chapter 14

Waking up in Tom’s arms the next morning was at once the most ordinary and surreal experience of my life. The light that spilled through the window was golden and warm, even while the lingering drizzle from the previous night’s storm pattered quietly from the eaves. The water thrushes and the mourning doves were cooing out their daily greetings, and I knew that, if I opened the door, I’d be able to smell the salt from the sea, and the rain, and the sweet perfume from the late-blooming magnolia trees in the backyard.

A lovely scene, but pale next to the man dreaming in my bed.

I was curled against his side, my head pillowed on his chest, rising and falling with every breath he drew. His heart beat slow and steady beneath my ear, and the heat from his body did more to warm me than the single sheet he’d drawn over us before we’d succumbed to exhaustion. One arm held me close, and I could feel his fingers tangled in my hair. The other was slung across his stomach, and I traced a fingertip over the muscles of his forearm as I considered the wonder of him, of us.

_I love him. And he loves me._

I turned my head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the skin above his heart, smiling as his sleeping self acknowledged it with a deeper, sighing breath. I shifted a bit next to him, and felt a flush of delight race through my core at the lingering stickiness still moist on the insides of my thighs, knowing it was not only my release, but his as well. I pressed my legs together for some relief, but the not so thrilling burn from my over-exerted, over-stimulated muscles followed close behind, making me wince. Slipping quietly from the bed, I tiptoed to the bathroom to attend to that issue, the idea of suppressing even a single urge to touch or be touched making my stomach twist in an unhappy knot. A quick shower with some discreet aloe and vitamin E made a world of difference, and I sighed in relief.

As I toweled my hair dry in front of my vanity, something in my reflection caught my eye, and I leaned close, swiping my hand over the glass to clear the steam. Just under my left ear, a large purple-pink blemish stood in stark contrast to my pale skin. I gasped softly, pulling my hair over my shoulder and craning my neck to look closer, running a fingernail gently over the darker marks left by his teeth. I couldn’t help but smile, nibbling a little on my lower lip.

“Does that hurt, love?”

Tom’s arms circled me from behind, his chin tucking into the crook of my neck. Our eyes met in the mirror, and I shook my head. He kissed my temple sweetly before taking my neck in his hands, angling me so that he could brush his lips over the mark, his warm breath sending goosebumps flocking out across my skin. “You’re going to have a difficult time covering this up, aren’t you?” His voice rumbled pleasantly in my ear, and I shivered against him.

“I’m not even going to try,” I giggled. “I might be wearing my hair down for awhile. But other than that…”

I felt him chuckle, his thumb tracing the outline his mouth had left on me with almost reverent fascination. He turned my face so that he could look directly into my eyes, smoothing my damp hair back over my forehead, his gaze full of quiet mischief. “You don’t mind being a marked woman, then?”

I raised my chin a notch before again shaking my head. “Not if it’s your mark,” I answered honestly.

He drew in breath, his lips curling almost imperceptibly at the corners. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

His grin widened ever so slightly before he turned me, lowering his lips and finding the mark again. I slid my hands into his hair as he suckled hungrily at my skin, drawing more heat to the surface and making me whimper in delight. My towel fell to the floor as he lifted me to sit on the sink, guiding my legs around his waist. I had hoped my earlier ministrations would be enough, but the sensation when he slid his middle finger deep into me was still more pain then pleasure, and I couldn’t help but cry out. He withdrew almost immediately, his brow furrowed in concern. “Sore?” I nodded, my cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment. He clicked his tongue sympathetically, kissing my mouth sweetly before taking a step back. “We did have a rather vigorous evening, didn’t we?” I nodded again, tittering just a bit when he eyed his rigid cock with a rueful grin. “I hope there’s plenty of cold water…”

At that, I narrowed my eyes seductively and ran my tongue over my lips. “I’ve got something a lot better than cold water…” I put my feet back on the floor and spun our bodies together, giving him the counter to lean against while I sank to my knees between his legs.

His face was etched with commanding satisfaction as I took him in my hand, stroking the velvety skin so that it slid easily over the iron rod of muscle underneath. “That’s my good girl,” he murmured, arching just a little to give me ease of access. “Are you going to make me come in that beautiful mouth of yours?” I answered with a swirl of my tongue around his purpling crown, and he chuckled low in his throat. “Show me, sweet.”

The flavor of him flooded my palate as I slid him between my lips, salty, musky sweet, and I closed my eyes briefly to savor it. His hiss of breath through clenched teeth, the almost imperceptible jerk of his hips made me shudder with self-satisfaction, and I had to force myself to keep my descent slow, to drag out this warm up until he demanded more. Still not completely adjusted to his length and girth, I had to advance and retreat a couple of times before my stubborn muscles aligned and relaxed. Finally, a single tear escaped from each of my eyes as I sealed my lips around the base of his cock, my nose brushing the soft, silky curls at his pubis. He whispered my name, and when I lifted my gaze to meet his, the pride and adoration in his gaze filled me so full I thought I would float up off the floor. He gently wiped my tears away before sliding his hands into my hair. “Hands behind your back, sweetheart,” he intoned softly, his authority undeniable. “Trust me.”

I did as I was told, threading my fingers together at the base of my spine. The posture arched my body a bit, lengthening my neck, and Tom hummed his approval. Ever so slowly, he slid his length back until only the head of his cock rested between my lips. Then he stopped, his silent cue unmistakable. I wrapped my lips around him snugly, sucking gently, swirling my tongue around the silky skin, dipping the tip into his now leaking slit to taste him. “Brilliant,” he breathed before thrusting forward again, slow but steady.

I couldn’t help but gaze up at him in worship as he fucked my mouth, so careful, so controlled. He would find a limit, an angle too sensitive, a speed too rapid, and allow me a brief reprieve while I gagged and coughed my way to recovery. But as soon as my eyes were clear and my breath was back, he would push forward again, guiding me, teaching me, _using_ me. It was incredible, erotic, and my chafed inner walls were soon throbbing, cramping in on themselves, pouring forth their nectar in invitation. I hadn’t even realized my right hand had sneaked around and delved between my legs until Tom pulled free from my mouth with an audible pop, a sharp tug on my hair bringing my attention back into focus.

“Michelle,” his voice was calm but stern. “Where did I tell you to put your hands?”  

“I’m sorry,” I squeaked, rushing to resume my previous position.

His brow was furrowed in displeasure, his irises beneath them swirling dark. “I don’t want your apologies, love. I want you to do as you’re told. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Tom.” I straightened my back, rising up a bit on my knees. “I understand.”

The clouds parted, and his face relaxed as he guided himself back between my lips. I only had a moment to wonder which aroused me more, the warm glow of his praise or the cool scrutiny of his disapproval, before he was once again thrusting into my mouth with growing urgency. Determined to finish perfectly, I kept my hands clasped tightly behind me, my body bowed, my mouth and throat open and welcoming as he chased his ecstasy to its pinnacle. The muscles in his thighs were thrumming like livewires and his breath had started to hitch in stacked little huffs when his hand under my chin lifted my gaze to his. “Can you swallow me, love?”

His words made every muscle below my ribcage clench into knots of fire, and I whimpered desperately, nodding as best I could with my mouth so full. “Oh, that’s my good girl,” he groaned, the building orgasm twisting his voice as it coiled in his body. “Jesus, Michelle… yes… oh, fuck, sweetheart… I love you…” His body jerked violently and his words dissolved into a choking growl as he spilled, hot and thick, against my waiting throat. Panic gripped me briefly when the force of it all threatened to throw my own muscles into lockdown. Closing my eyes, I let go, surrendered to base instinct, and tried to take everything he had to give. The slack in my jaw allowed what my throat couldn’t take to drip out over my lips, sparing us both the fight of coughing or gagging, and he rode out every last twinge and spasm against my tongue before collapsing, spent, to his knees beside me.

His forehead came to rest against mine, his ragged exhales blowing hot across my cheeks. Our eyes locked, and I swiped a finger across my mouth, collecting the fluid that had escaped. His pupils blew wide as I sucked the digit clean; without warning, he grabbed my neck and kissed me savagely, his tongue filling my mouth in one broad sweep. We hovered together, eating up one anothers mouths until we were both shivering from the cool air. Then Tom dragged me back into the tub with him for a shower more playful than passionate.

After dressing quickly in lounging clothes and sharing a quick English breakfast, we spent almost the entirety of the day in the makeshift bed in the living room, rising only to re-stoke the blaze in the fireplace or fetch food from the kitchen. We talked endlessly, about everything, getting to know each other more and more in the quiet, intimate embrace of the pillows while his fingers toyed endlessly with the hem of my shirt or a lock of my hair. After a supper of Chinese delivery, Tom spent another long moment admiring the love bite on my neck before proceeding to give me another one on my hip while I squealed and squirmed beneath him. Several times during the evening, I tried to pull him on top of me, coax him inside me. Each time, he steadfastly refused, insisting that I take at least a day to recover from what he dubbed “The T& M Southern Hospitality Fuckfest”.

The sun was setting outside the windows when I returned from a trip to the bathroom to find both bed and living room empty. “Tom?” I called, wandering towards the kitchen. I found him at the counter, steeping tea bags into two steaming mugs. “What’s this?” I asked, propping myself on a counter stool and resting my chin on my hand.

He quirked his chin towards my front bay window. “You have a porch swing.”

“Darlin’,” I cooed, “you’re south of the Mason-Dixon Line. Everybody has a porch swing.”

He laughed. “I don’t know why you try so hard to ditch that accent, love.” He leaned over to drop a kiss on the tip of my nose. “I think you sound utterly charming.”

I snorted a bit. “Again, sweetie, your British is showing.”

He shrugged, draining the tea bags and tossing them in the trash. “Milk?”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Molasses.” He looked completely horrified as I crossed to the pantry, and I snickered through my fingers. “What happened to ‘utterly charming’?”

“It turned to bloody daft,” he pulled a face as I poured a dollop of the dark syrup into my cup. I stirred it briskly, inhaling the aroma that always made me think of days home sick from school before sipping carefully. He watched me suspiciously as I smiled at the taste, shaking his head violently as I offered the mug to him. He splashed milk into his own cup, and then offered me his arm. I snagged the comforter that hung over the back of the sofa, and we stepped outside into the cold autumn evening. We wrapped ourselves in the fleece before sinking onto the bench swing that hung to the left of my front door, Tom tucking me under his arm, against his chest.

We sat in silence for awhile, watching the stars wink to life in the purple-black tapestry of the sky as the chains and boards of the bench creaked pleasantly under his long legs bending and straightening, rocking us slowly. “So,” I sipped again from my cup. “What would you like to do tomorrow?”

“Besides you?” He murmured against my forehead.

“Besides me,” I confirmed.

“I’d love to take a run on the beach.”

“Okay, a run on the beach.” I snuggled against him. “What else?”

“How about the fish market? Maybe a drive up the coast?”

“Done and done.” I smiled. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” he shifted a bit next to me. “I’d like to buy you a ticket to London.”

My body went rigid beneath his arm, and I turned my head on my neck to face him. “Wh-what did you say?”

His expression was calm and clear. “You heard me, Michelle. I want you to come to London with me when I go.”

My heart was hammering in my chest; as much as his words thrilled me, I was dismayed to feel that little sliver of ice poking away at the center of my gut. “Tom,” I turned a bit more towards him. “That is such a sweet offer…”

“Michelle,” his tone a bit darker. “I won’t have you put me off again.” I knew my expression was a mixture of naked fear and confusion, and he gave a small sigh. “Look, I know this is all happening a little fast for your taste, and I absolutely want to be sensitive to that. It’s why I didn’t push when you insisted on coming back here after New York instead of coming with me. But I meant what I said. I love you. I believed you when you said you love me.” He smoothed my hair back behind my ear from where the evening breeze had blown it across my face. “Listen, sweetheart, if I hadn’t already committed to a theater run, I would stay here with you and take all the time in the word to figure things out. I don’t have that luxury. You, on the other hand…” I bristled a little, and he looked at me sideways, a hint of gentle warning in his eyes. “Michelle, really. You can work from anywhere. And London is so amazing, love. You could find so much inspiration there…”

I pulled back from him abruptly, nearly spilling my tea in the process. “Tom, I can’t just up and move to London with you…”

He grabbed the cup from my hands and set it on the porch, along with his own, then caught both of my hands in his. “I am not asking you to move to London with me,” he insisted. “Although, I will admit, yes, part of me fantasized that that’s exactly what you’d _want_ to do. And if you were to, at any time, decide that that _is_ what you want to do, I’m in. Do you hear me? I am in.” He let his words sink in for a moment, his fingers gently massaging mine. “All I am asking is that you come and be with me at least until this commitment is fulfilled and I have the freedom to do something else. You can even help me decide which projects I should do next.”

My teeth worried my bottom lip, my mind racing miles a minute. This was a fantasy come true. Literally. Hundreds, thousands of women all over the world would have gladly stepped over my mangled corpse for the opportunity he was laying at my feet. And nearly every cell in my body was pleading with me, screaming at me. _Say yes, stupid!_ The word should have leapt from my mouth before he was even finished with the question. But it hadn’t. And I just couldn’t let go of the thought that there had to be a reason.

I lifted my gaze to his, and it took everything I had not to weep at the love and hope and plea in his eyes. “Maybe,” I began hesitantly. “Maybe you could go on the thirtieth and I can join you in a week or two…”

The way his expression fell told me I had said the exact wrong thing. His posture stiffened, and his hands released mine abruptly. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and made sure he was looking me in the eye when he spoke. “No.”

I blanched a little. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, no.” He answered simply. “I won’t have you put me off again. I love you. I want you with me. I want you in my life, in my home, in my bed, every day.”

“Oh, Tom, come on,” I interrupted him nervously. “You can’t possibly think there’s never going to be a day down the road when we’ll have to be apart, especially with your career…”

“I’m not talking about down the road.” His calm demeanor was unnerving. “I’m talking about the next four months. I’m talking about us making a plan to handle ‘down the road’ together.” I’m not sure how he did it, but he actually managed a smile. “I know you are terrified of what I’m offering you. I know where other people see stone and concrete, you see sand and water. But Michelle, I can’t prove to you that there are forever things in this world unless you allow me to try.” He reached out, caressing my face; I leaned into his touch, grabbing his wrist with both hands as if it were a lifeline.

“Tom…” I groped for words, and he laughed gently.

“Michelle, do you love me?”

“Yes!” I could feel my tears splashing onto my clinging hands.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes!”

“Do you want to be with me?”

“Yes!” By this time, I was sobbing outright. Tom lifted his other hand to the other side of my neck, holding me steady as his eyes burned into me.

_“Then be with me.”_

I let him hold me a heartbeat longer, and then nodded. “Okay, Tom.”

His face lit up, boyish and beautiful in his excitement. “Okay? Meaning…”

“I want to come to London with you.” It was true.

He dragged me into his embrace, and I wept silently against his shoulder as he rocked me, stroking my hair, rubbing my back. “I know you’re scared, love, but I promise you, _I promise you_ , we are going to be so happy.” He pulled me back, wiped the tears from my cheeks before drawing my mouth closer to his.

“I believe you, Tom,” I managed to whisper before his lips sealed over mine.

That was true, too.


	15. Chapter 15

While I didn’t regret making the decision to accompany Tom to London, I hadn’t realized at first what an exhausting undertaking it would be. He bounced out of bed early the next morning; I awoke to his animated chatter as he shared the news with Luke, instructing him to secure me a seat on his flight home and to add me as his “plus one” to all the activities on his upcoming itinerary. I twirled my spoon nervously in my coffee, feeling a little light-headed as I listened to him list off just a few: a welcome lunch for the Donmar cast and theater crew, a business dinner with his manager and another PR rep, the Christmas charity gala in the West End. “You’ll need a formal gown for that one, love,” he grinned with a wink. My teeth closed on my thumbnail as he rattled off my cellular number and email address so that Luke could send information to me directly. Finally, after hanging up and tucking his mobile back into his pocket, he took my hand and kissed it warmly. “Don’t scrunch, sweetheart,” he soothed a thumb over my brow. “I know it’s a bit overwhelming. But I promised you happiness, and I intend to make good.”

My own phone chimed from the counter, and I turned it so that he could see the unrecognized international number. His grin widened, silently confirming that it was indeed from Luke, and that the details of my life to come would be encoded in the text. I swiped at the screen, and the list unfurled, dates, times, flight numbers. Scattered throughout the copied information were little annotations, obviously Luke’s personal contributions:

_You and Tom will be seated at the head table with Josie, but it’s a casual affair. Still, Tom doesn’t need to be asked twice to speak so…?_

_Michael is married, so his wife will probably join, but Jay is single. And gay. And slightly into your man. You’ll be quite entertained._

_Ben will be at this one, and he likes to hit on Tom’s girls for fun. You have been warned._

At the bottom of the email was a list of shops and salons, the number for a car service, a link to the tube schedule, and the address for a small library only a ten minute walk from Tom’s flat.

Finally, a note: _I hope this helps put you at ease, I know it can’t be easy jumping into something like this. For my part, I’m very glad you are. You mean a great deal to Tom, and you’ve no idea what you’ve done for him by saying you’ll come. Please keep my contact information, and don’t hesitate to use it. I’ll always help, in any way I can. Affection – LW._

I was deeply touched. I’d known Luke and Tom were close, and I had assumed that Tom saw the young man as much as a confidant as everything else. Now, after reading his words, I found it easier to ignore the chill of anxiety that had never completely melted away. And when I looked back at Tom, I knew that the revelation was visible on my face. The peaceful excitement in his eyes, the pleased flush in his cheeks, the mischievous tongue just poking through his toothy grin. “He’s good, isn’t he?”

“That is an understatement,” I nodded, tucking my phone away. “You’re very lucky to have him.”

“I am,” Tom confirmed. “I’m very lucky to have you, too.”

“You are,” I sniffed, lifting my cup to my lips and sipping as he threw his head back and laughed.

If those were the only issues that needed tending it would have been exhausting enough. But there was one more, one that twisted my stomach and tugged at my heart. And so Tom and I tucked into my car for the ninety minute drive, him singing along with the radio and snapping pictures with my Nikon to try and help keep my nerves at bay.

It’s hard enough to introduce your boyfriend to your father under the best of circumstances. When your father mistakes you for his wife or his sister half the time, well, that only makes it harder. But Jeanine the nurse and Susan the neighbor had assured me he was doing well, and our telephone call couldn’t have gone better. Still, as we walked up the driveway to the house I’d grown up in, my heart was pounding in my chest. “Darling,” Tom wound his arm tight around me, ducking to kiss my cheek. “Please try to relax. Everything is going to be just fine.”

I turned to him with sudden urgency. “Tom… I just need you to understand. Things with my dad… even when they’re good… they can go bad really, really quickly. It’s… not pretty. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a really bad spell, but I just…” I groped for words. “I need you to know…”

Tom’s blue eyes were full of compassion as he gently covered my mouth with his hand. “Stop right there. Take a breath.” I did. “Now kiss me.” Rising on tiptoe, I did that as well. “Now listen to me,” his voice was clear and firm. “I’m not an idiot, and I’m not a complete ass. I know enough to realize that, if things… deteriorate… it is neither your father’s fault, nor yours.” He gripped my hands tightly. “You do realize that, right? That it’s not your fault?”

“I know,” I nodded. I wasn’t convinced, and I could tell from the way he looked down his nose at me that he knew it, too. But he mercifully did not push the issue, only enfolded me in his arms, rocking me gently before taking my hand and pulling me along to the front door.

It was a beautiful afternoon. I’ll have the pictures to remember it forever. Jeanine was there with her fiance Shane, and Susan and her husband Bill were there as well, their retriever mix Rocket snoozing contentedly at my father’s feet when he rose from his chair to squeeze me in a hug, “Michelle, ma belle.” Tom, of course, was picture perfect, extending his hand with a smart little bow. It wasn’t long before the men were lost in car talk, and the women bustled me into the kitchen for “oh, my God, he’s so TALL”, “he’s even cuter in person”, and “you are walking just a hitch funny, darlin’”.

Twenty minutes later, he ducked in to my side: “Your father keeps making fun of my accent.”

I pressed a kiss to his cheek with a giggle. “That means he likes you, sweetie.”

He wandered the halls of the house, looking at the pictures on the walls, learning the preliminaries of my past. He whispered filthy suggestions in my ear while touring my bedroom, unchanged since I’d moved out at seventeen. He got a crash course in Carolina barbeque over the backyard grill and patiently withstood my daddy’s dissertation on the finer points of Tar Heel basketball. He threw the tennis ball for Rocket as we sat on the back porch, and he made cry when he told my father he loved his daughter.

The moon was well above the house as the neighbors took their leave, and the night shift arrived so Jeanine could take hers. Tom was in the bathroom as I reiterated our plans, my trip to London, the work I would take with me, the future I was planning with a man I still couldn’t believe was mine. Daddy listened with proud, shining eyes, and I took his hand in both of mine. “So, we’re still on for phone calls. And I’ve already told Tom that, if the Spurs make the championship, we will be there, Shakespeare be damned.”

My father laughed, then pursed his lips. “So. You’ll be living with that boy.”

_And I’m seventeen again._ “I’ll be staying with Tom in his house, yes, daddy.”

“Sleepin’ in the same bed, I suppose.”

“Daddy…” I cocked an eyebrow. “We’re not gonna talk about this _,_ are we?”

“I ain’t sayin’ you can’t, baby girl. You’re a grown woman now, gettin’ to call your own shots an’ all. And I like him.” My father grinned. “Seems all right to me, anyway.”

I smiled. “Daddy, he’s wonderful.”

“Makes you happy?” His eyes watered a bit.

“Yes, Daddy,” I choked a little. “Tom makes me very happy.”

“Well, good then, girl. You done good.” He squeezed my hand. “Just don’t tell your mother. She’ll skin that boy alive.”

I froze. “Oh, okay. I won’t.” I rose from my chair, alarm bells ringing in the back of my skull. “Well, we better hit the road. I’ll just go get Danny, make sure he knows we’re leaving.” I glanced into the kitchen, looking for the night nurse.

“You don’t think that boy went and said somethin’ to her already, do you?” My father’s brow furrowed, and the knot in my stomach twisted tighter.

“No, I don’t think Tom would say anything…”

“Are you sure? You know, she ain’t been out of her room all evenin’. She only holes up when she’s upset about somethin’… you sure neither one of you said nothin’?” By this time, he was rising out of his chair as well, his agitation clearly on the rise. “Ruth? Ruthie! Come out here, woman…”

Tom appeared in the doorway, and it didn’t take long for him to read the situation. “Jack?” He crossed to my father with careful deliberation. “Jack, what’s the matter?”

My father grabbed at Tom’s arm, desperate for reassurance that he had not, in fact said something to upset my mother. Tom took his hand, easing him back down to his chair, nodding absently at me when I excused myself to track down the night nurse. “Danny? Danny?”

The slight, rusty haired man appeared from around the corner. “What’s the matter, Chelley?” I explained the situation as best I could through hitching breaths, willing myself not to cry and make everything worse. He took my hand and led me to the kitchen, where he retrieved my father’s evening medication cocktail. “It’s gonna be all right, Chelley. You sit here, me ‘n your man’ll calm him down.”

I grabbed his elbow, the tears finally escaping and scalding their way down my cheeks. “You don’t have to tell him again, do you?”

“Chelley, calm down…”

“I can’t watch it again, Danny. I can’t watch him lose her all over again. I can’t… I can’t.”

“Michelle!” He was scowling, and I realized I was lucky he hadn’t slapped me straight. “I can’t have two hysterics on my hands, girl, get your shit together.” He picked up the tray of pills and the glass of water. “Keep your rear in that chair, I’ll send your man for you when it’s clear.”

Thirty minutes that felt like an eternity; Tom finally appeared at my side, kneeling to caress my tear-stained face. “Are you okay, love?” I nodded, numb, and he knelt on the tile to pull me into his arms. “It’s all right, sweet. It’s all right.” He held me close, explained how he and Danny had diverted my father’s attention until he was calm and jovial once more. “Promised him the next time we came to visit I’d bring the Jag-wire and drive him up to the crick for some fishin’.” I dissolved into laughter, and he covered my face in kisses.

“I love you,” I murmured when he finally came up for air. “And I am so happy that I’m going home with you.”

“I love you” he grinned. “And I’m more than happy to take you.”

We were deep in a kiss when Danny reappeared in the doorway, clearing his throat. Tom and I rose, and I hugged him in thanks. “You’re very welcome, sugar, but I think it’s best you hustle on out. We’re workin’ on borrowed luck here.” Nodding, I tucked myself behind the two men, walking quietly as Tom called a casual goodbye and Danny moved as if to close and lock the door behind him.

Tom’s hand was on the doorknob when the floor fell out from under me. “Ruthie! There you are! I told these ol’ boys you were just off havin’ a pout. Come sit down here, it’s time for Carson.”

His face was so open and hopeful under his shock of white hair, his hand patting the sofa cushion next to him. Our eyes met, and for a split second, he was oblivious to the sorrow in mine. For a split second, he was a younger man, looking at the woman who was his entire world, and in that heartbeat, he gave me a gift I never expected. Because I realized, all at once, I’d seen that look before.

I saw it when Tom looked at me.

My tears began to flow once more, and my father rose from the couch, panic etching his features. “Ruth? What’s the matter, honey? Ruthie?”

“Daddy,” I sobbed softly. “I’m so sorry.” And then Danny was shoving me into Tom’s arms, pulling the door open and bustling us through.

“Go, Chelley,” he urged. “Just go.”

“But…”

“Call us when you get home, but for the love of God, girl, go! Now!”

I could hear my father calling for my mother, and I turned reflexively to run to him, fighting like mad as Tom pulled while Danny pushed. “Are you certain?”

“I am, bucko, I am. Take her and get her outta here. Now! I got this goat, he an’ I go way back. By time you get back to her place he’ll be fine. She can call and they can chat and he won’t even know what went on. But only if you get her outta here NOW!”

That was all it took; Tom bent at the knees and swept me off my feet, carrying me to the car even as I pounded his back with my fists. He placed me in the passenger seat like a child, fastening my seatbelt before kneeling in front of me, taking my face in his hands as I sobbed. “Michelle!” He shook me gently.”Michelle, focus, love. FOCUS.” I hitched in a sniveling breath, meeting his eyes as he wiped my tears with his thumbs. “It’s going to be all right. Say it.” For a moment, all I could do was stammer, and he pressed his lips to my forehead. “Say it, love.”

“Ih-it’s g-gonna be all right.”

“Good girl. We’re going to go home, and you’ll call your father when we get there.” His eyes bore into mine. “Say it.”

“I-I’ll call my f-f-father when we get ho-home.”

His smile was calm and comforting perfection. “And everything is going to be all right.”

“Eh-everything is gonna be all right.” I swiped at my nose, sniffling pathetically.

Tom stroked my hair. “And I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Nope, not what I said.” He chuckled. “ _I_ love _you.”_

“Y-you love me.”

“Beautiful girl,” he leaned in to embrace me, and I buried my face in his neck.

We were thirty minutes into the drive before I broke down again, sobbing into my hands. “I’m so sorry, Tom. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry I put you through that… I’m sorry I put him through that. I’m so fucking sorry. I just… I had to… I couldn’t put an ocean between us and not say goodbye in person. And I know it’s selfish and cruel and I feel horrible... and… oh, God, Tom… please stop the car. Pull over… please…”

His expression was pure worry as he did as I asked, easing the vehicle well off the shoulder. He was opening his mouth to speak when I lunged, unbuckling my seatbelt and clambering out of my seat to straddle him. “Michelle, Christ in heaven… what’s gotten into you?” He gasped as I yanked open his belt and wrestled with his fly.

“Fuck me, Tom,” I begged, sounding desperate and sad and not caring a shred. “Fuck me… please…”

“Here?” He was shocked, incredulous, but, as evidenced by the hardness that met my hand when I reached into his boxer briefs, not entirely unwilling. “Now?”

“Please, Tom, please,” I writhed against him, craving the comfort, the carnal connection. “I need you…”

His eyes darkened, and I could feel his hands slip under my skirt, gripping my ass. “Then have me, beautiful girl.”

I wasn’t wet yet, but I didn’t care. Yanking my panties aside, I guided his cock to my entrance and rolled my hips, crying out at the delicious pain of the penetration. His head fell back on his neck, exposing the taut cords of his throat, and I sealed my lips to his pulsepoint, tasting the stubble beneath my tongue. His growl of approval started the flow of my juices, and I rose up, coating his length before slamming down once more.

“Fucking little minx,” he snarled, fisting my hair and dragging my mouth to his. Lips and teeth and tongues met in a clash for dominance that he soon won, and I melted against him. “Is this what you want?” He thrust upward, lifting us both off the seat, the head of his cock grinding into my cervix and making me yelp.

“Yes!”

“Is this what you need?” He repeated the motion, this time using his hands on my waist to pull me more fully into the collision.

“Yes!” I was screaming it now, my legs quaking from hip to toe, my knees gripping him tightly.

“Fuck, Michelle,” he tore the vee of my neckline deeper, yanking the fabric of my dress and bra aside to expose my breasts to his lips and tongue. “Ride me, love. Ride me hard.”

“Fuck… Tom…” He buried his face in my breasts and I wrapped my arms around him, resting my cheek on top of his head.

It didn’t take long, maybe a dozen more brutal twists of my body and we were peaking together, his hand in my hair pulling me damn near into a back bend so he could devour me with his eyes, my taut nipples jutting towards the ceiling, my body pouring its release over his where we were joined. His breath was coming in harsh, groaning barks, mine in soft, keening whimpers. Finally, I collapsed against him, panting his name. “Thank you, Tom… thank you… I love you… I love you so much.”

“Shhh, Michelle, my love,” His hands, now gentle, stroked over my back. “I love you, too.”

“Thank you... thank you so much… and I’m so sorry.”

“Will you please close that babbling little mouth of yours?” He chuckled quietly. “I’ve already told you, none of this is your fault, so you have nothing to be sorry about. And as far as thanks…” He lifted my chin, tenderly kissing the split in my lip. “I should be the one thanking you.” At my furrowed brow, he grinned wickedly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been taken before. But that?” He refused to let me look away. “That was fucking amazing.” We shared a quiet laugh before helping one another tuck back into our respective clothing, and then he lifted me gingerly back into my own seat. Cueing up the GPS, he eased the car back onto the road, smiling as my head lolled against his shoulder.

“Sleep, beautiful girl. I’ll get you home safe…”


	16. Chapter 16

“Open your eyes, love.”

Tom’s voice was honey in my ear, his lips tickling feather-light kisses against my forehead. I shivered a bit and gave a pouty little groan, hugging his arm a little tighter, snuggling a little closer into his shoulder. A bundle of nerves and anticipation our last night in the states, I’d barely closed my eyes all night. We rose to catch our plane in Raleigh-Durham hours before dawn, and even though we were made very comfortable in first class, the butterflies in my stomach had kept me a jittery mess for more than half of the nine hour flight. How Tom had managed to shepherd my bleary-eyed stumble through the Heathrow baggage claim and into the car waiting for us outside was beyond me. Now, tucked against his side in the corner of the luxurious town car’s back seat, it felt like years since I’d gotten decent sleep. His arm shifted, wrapping around me, his fingers sliding into my hair. I was just beginning to arch into his touch when he spoke again, soft and low, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Testing my patience, sweet?”

I immediately shifted in my seat, that dark edge of warning in his voice caressing my insides and making them clench. I opened my eyes as instructed and met his, sighing at the flecks of green made more prominent by his plum colored button-down oxford. “No, Tom,” I whispered, leaning into his touch. “I’m sorry. Just sleepy.”

His mouth curled in a warm, satisfied smile. “I know you are, love. But I want you to look.” He gestured to the window behind my head. “Look!”

I turned my head just as the car hit the bridge, and my jaw dropped in awe. The setting sun lit up the London skyline like it had been dipped in gold, the outline of the buildings and the Eye blazing against the azure sky. The water under us shimmered and rippled, and leaves of every color danced on the wake we cut through the early evening. “Tom!” I gasped softly. “It’s gorgeous!”

He buried the tip of his nose in the nape of my neck. “Now you know why I wanted you here,” he breathed into my hair. “You fit right in.”

I was turning my head to thank him shyly when I felt his hand slip under my skirt, his fingers gently groping their way up my inner thigh. “Tom,” I hissed breathlessly, grabbing his wrist. “The driver…”

“Has his eyes trained on the road, love,” he chuckled, nibbling at my earlobe. One long finger was twirling under the lacy top of my stocking, tugging playfully at the suspender. “Keep yourself quiet, and he’ll never be the wiser.”

_Keep myself quiet. Right._ “Tom…”

“Shhh, darling,” his fingers curled against my scalp, pulling my head back just a bit. “We’re just two weary travelers, snuggling together, all but asleep on this last leg of our very long journey.” His lips so close to my ear that his words echoed in the center of my brain, innocent and poetic, even as his hand under my dress crept deliberately higher and higher. “Close your eyes. More importantly, close your mouth.” I tried to do as he said, but when his fingertips brushed the now damp silk between my legs, my traitor features did exactly the opposite. He tugged sharply at my hair. “Michelle,” he purred sweetly. “You’re so wet for me, love, so hot… I can feel how hungry your little cunt is for my touch.” He sucked teasingly at my earlobe. “Don’t you want my fingers inside you?”

I drew in breath to speak, but another gentle tug on my hair made me reconsider. “No words, love.” He pressed a warm kiss to the hollow beneath my ear. I nodded as best I could, and felt his smile curl against my skin. “That’s my good girl. Now close your eyes.” I rolled my lids shut and pressed my lips together before being told. “Oh, that’s my very good girl.” He rewarded me with firm pressure against my swelling clit through my panties, and I swallowed the wanton moan that threatened to break from my throat. “Spread your legs for me sweet, just a bit… there. Perfect.” I let my head recline against his shoulder, trying to create the picture he’d suggested: two jetlagged lovers in an innocent embrace, trying to doze away the last miles that stood between them and home. He shifted a bit against me, his face buried in my neck, concealed by the spill of hair over my shoulder. It didn’t take long for me to figure out why.

“What do you think I should do with these panties of yours?” He murmured directly into my ear, his middle finger tracing the seam of my lips through the fabric. “They’re soaked, for starters, and very much in my way.” He bit down gently on my earlobe. “Shall I slide them down these lovely legs?” He teased a fingertip under the elastic at my hip. “Of course, then I would have to bend over to slip them off your ankles now, wouldn’t I? And that might attract unwanted attention. And they are so thin, so flimsy, they don’t conceal much, really…” His touch returned to the strip now molded wetly to my labia. “I could easily just tear them from your body now, couldn’t I?” He hummed softly, as if he hadn’t already made up his mind, and I braced myself, biting the insides of my lips in anticipation. Sure enough, a heartbeat later, Tom shifted his hips so that the creaking of the leather seat concealed the soft whisper of the material ripping in his grip. I sucked in a double lungful of air but managed to stay quiet as he dropped the tattered garment to the floor with a flick of his wrist. “Nicely done, sweet,” he exhaled raw heat against my skin. “Let’s see how much more you can take…”

I could feel the tip of one finger tracing my slit, so slowly, from top to bottom, just enough pressure to make me want to scream. It only took a few passes for the blood rushing to my sex to fill my lips enough to push them open for him, and his responding growl in my ear was pure triumph. “My lovely little flower… I do love the way you blossom so sweetly for me.” He took his time, tracing each fold in turn. “And always so wet.” He dipped lower, catching some of the fluid my body was now pouring forth and smoothing it over my aching flesh, making his touch slide over the landscape with slippery ease. “What would you like first, love?” He nipped playfully at my ear. “Shall I bury my fingers inside you? Two, maybe three? Shall I thrust them into this tight little cunt, stretch you open, find that little spot that always makes you whimper and writhe?” As he spoke, he pressed two fingertips against the muscle at the bottom of my entrance, making my hips lift reflexively, beckoning him deeper. “Should I show you with my fingers all the things I’m going to do to you with my cock as soon as I get you inside my front door?”

I bit my lower lip, waiting for that first delicious plunge, the one that always tugged and burned in the most unimaginably delightful way. But no sooner had I bowed my body in welcome when his hand moved, that maddening single fingertip tracing back up with contact barely there. “Or shall I play with this hard little clit first?” His touch flirted over the hood of flesh that protected the raw little bundle of nerves, the spot he knew I liked to rub when pleasuring myself. Delicate little flickers, and I could feel my clitoris swelling, pushing free, demanding direct attention. He reached lower, wetting his fingertip once more to lubricate the throbbing bud before circling it, around and around and around. I couldn’t completely suppress a moan of longing, and he exhaled a quiet laugh. “Oh, yes, you like this.” He caught the nub between his thumb and forefinger, twisting gently. “I know you like this.” Twist, tug, stroke. “I could make you come, just like this.” Tug, stroke, twist. “We both know that.”

“Tom…”

“Shhh,” a gentle tug on my hair, a teasing flick of his fingertip. “I said no words.” I gulped in more air, squeezing my eyes shut tighter, and he resumed his random pattern of erotic stimulation. “Have I told you yet how much I love this dress you’re wearing?” I shook my head, and then let it fall back on my neck when his fingertip began to tap out my racing pulse on the throbbing pearl in his hand. “So lovely, the way it clings in all the right places. Like now, for instance… your nipples look incredible. So hard, so excited… it’s too bad I can’t just push your dress and your bra out of the way and wrap my lips around them.” My hips bucked involuntarily, and he laughed silkily once more. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? To feel my mouth around your hard little nipples, licking them, sucking them, biting them… just like I’d lick and suck and bite this sweet little bud here.” He caught my clitoris between two fingers and rubbed furiously. “Don’t you wish I could just drop to my knees right here, right on the floor of the car? Put my head up under your skirt, wrap your thighs around my ears, and nurse on this hard little clit until your sweet pussy is just gushing for me?”

The combination of such filthy suggestions uttered his perfect gentleman’s voice coupled with his dexterous fingers working over my now shrieking clit had me right on the edge and I arched, panting softly. Just another stroke, just one more twist…

And Tom knew. His fingers went slack against me, resting gently against my pulsating flesh. I wanted to scream, to claw, to thrust my own fingers under the linen of my skirt and find my release myself. Instead, I fisted my hands at my sides, so hard my nails dug into my palms, and breathed out a barely audible whimper. “Oh, sweet,” his hand in my hair slid to my neck, massaging gently, and he kissed my neck warmly. “Such a good girl! You’re doing so well…I’m so very proud of you…”

I was so lost on the soothing tide of his praise that his brutal two-finger penetration took me completely by surprise. My eyes flew open and my jaw dropped, and only his grip on my neck and his voice in my ear kept me tethered to reality at all: “Keep quiet, love, you don’t want me to stop now, do you?” I swallowed my shriek so roughly my throat clicked with the effort, and he nuzzled my cheek with tenderness polar to the ruthless work of his hand. His thrusts were savage, his fingers crooked so that each push and drag slid over my g-spot, his thumb rubbing circles over my swollen labia. “Such a good girl,” he repeated, the tiniest hint of hungry breathlessness in his words. “Do you have any idea how hard I am right now? How much I wish this was my cock pounding away inside this tight little pussy?” I gasped harshly and he bit down on the cartilage of my ear, making me shudder. “I can’t come right now, Michelle, but you can… and you will, won’t you?” I nodded, frantic little tilts of my head, and he withdrew from me, adding a third finger before plunging back in. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he urged, half command, half plea. “Come all over my fingers… completely undone…”

I could hear the wet, sucking sounds of my body trying desperately to draw him deeper, could feel every muscle below my navel clenching at once. Tom could as well, and he flattened the heel of his hand against me, grinding my clit down into my pubic bone. My body bowed beneath his touch, my head thrown so far back on my neck I could see the first stars of the evening peeking through the clouds through the rear window of the car. His teeth sank into my neck, and as he began to draw gently but firmly on the flesh in his mouth, the dam inside me burst so forcefully my ears rang. The orgasm was so intense I couldn’t even shake, my body rigid from head to toe, curled around the hand and arm that had authored my release. I heard him mutter a soft but ragged curse, and felt the tips of his fingers pressing rhythmically against my g-spot, drawing my climax out longer and longer still. Before long, the lights in the sky above my eyes blurred from a hundred different pinpoints into one glorious blazing sun that burned bright red, ambient orange, warm yellow, then swirled down to darkness with me floating on the slowing beat of my heart and Tom’s proud, loving chuckle.

“Open your eyes, love.”

I can’t remember a time when my eyelids felt so heavy, but I forced them open, my jaw stretching in a yawn as well. Tom’s face swirled into focus, smiling sweetly as I rested against his shoulder. “We’ve arrived, darling,” he kissed me gently.

I turned my head drunkenly on my neck, trying to blink myself into coherence. The town car had come to a stop in front of a tasteful two story flat on a private, well manicured street. A sleek black Jaguar was parked in the driveway. I sat straighter in my seat, the prickling of anticipation dancing over the back of my neck as I watched the driver carry our bags up the few steps to the front door. “We’re home?”

The happiness that streaked across his features at my choice of words made my heart ache, and he nuzzled the tip of his nose against my cheek. “Yes, sweet, we’re home.” I took his face in my hands and sealed my lips over his, mewling a little when his grip tightened around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. “Come on,” he whispered when I finally let him go. “I’m dying to get you inside.” He slid out of the car and, as he held out his hand, I caught a glimpse of torn silk just peeking from the pocket of his slacks. He grinned at me, tongue caught between his teeth and I glared at him, gathering my skirt as best I could to keep from flashing the sweet chauffer who was now moving to close the trunk. My legs wobbled beneath me but Tom’s arm was around me in a flash, and I leaned gratefully into his warmth. I smiled and thanked our driver as Tom tipped him generously, and then was whisked half off my feet and through the front door.

He had barely dropped our luggage in the foyer before grabbing me from behind, one arm around my waist, one hand gripping my hair. He pressed me against the nearest bookcase, grinding his erection against the small of my back. “I’d grab hold of something if I were you, love,” he growled against my ear. “I’m dying to get inside you.”

Trembling from head to toe, I reached up to grasp the edge of the shelf just above my head, whimpering at the sound of clinking metal as his belt opened, the sensual buzz of his zipper parting. His hands were hot when he grabbed my hips, pulling me back to the angle he desired. “Lift your skirt for me, love.” I reached back, gathering the soft fabric with trembling hands. Goosebumps rose all over my body as the cool air hit my ass, and the still wet folds between my legs. “Exquisite,” I heard him breathe as I gripped the shelves once more, rising on my tiptoes in expectation. “So open and ready…” He draped his torso over my back, and slid one palm low against my belly as he thrust, filling me to the brim and forcing a moan from my lips that was nothing shy of whorish.

“Tom,” I gasped before the fingers of his other hand slid into my mouth. I could taste myself on them; it sent a flood of arousal down through my body, and he grunted in satisfied surprise.

“So perfect,” he crooned, pumping his fingers in the same rhythm of his thrusting cock, dueling sensations that rose and fell and met in the pit of my stomach, coiling into a spiral that twisted through every muscle and nerve. “We were made for each other, you must know that,” he rasped in my ear, his hand pressing against my abdomen, intensifying the pressure of his cock filling me to the fullest. “Jesus, Michelle…”

My head jerked reflexively, twisting my mouth free, and the words were spilling from my lips before I could stop them. “I’m yours, Tom, I’m yours… oh, God… I’m yours…”

He lifted that hand, covered mine, braiding our fingers so we gripped the shelf together. “Say it again, sweetheart,” he groaned, his hips snapping harder, faster, the sound of his flesh slapping wetly against mine pornographically beautiful. “Say it again…”

I threw my head back, clenching my body around him, twisting my hips and pushing down to meet every thrust. “I’m yours, Tom… I’m yours… please, please…”

“Fuck,” he snarled, his forehead pressed to the nape of my neck. “Please tell me you’re okay with quick and dirty…”

I squeezed his fingers, rocking into him with all the strength I had. “God, yes,” I whined. “Come inside me, Tom,” I begged.

His other hand slid down my belly, finding my clit and rubbing it furiously. “Come with me… and say it again…” That was all it took; I vaulted into the abyss, shrieking so loud I’m certain the neighbors could hear. Tom was right behind me, his arms locked around me so tight it was a wonder I could breathe, his body convulsing violently as he filled me so full I could feel him dripping down the insides of my thighs. We collapsed to the hardwood floor together in a jumble of tangled limbs and sweat soaked clothing. He flipped my body to face him, his hands grasping gently at my neck. His mouth groped hungrily at mine, his tongue flickering between my lips. “Say it again,” he whispered, biting softly at my lower lip.

I smiled sleepily into his eyes. “I love you, Tom… and I’m yours. I’m yours.”

“Mine,” he grinned, kissing my lips, my cheeks, all along my forehead. “You’re mine. I love you, Michelle. I’m yours, and you’re mine…”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very NSFW, this one. Trigger warnings, too, for light BDSM themes.

We had been in London just over two weeks, and already I was wondering why I’d ever hesitated when Tom asked me to come with him. He tucked me into his life so seamlessly it felt like I had been a part of it forever. After our dalliance in the foyer, we stumbled up the stairs and into his king-sized bed, where thirteen hours of sleep curled in one another’s arms cured our jetlag quite nicely. I unpacked my things while he enjoyed a late-morning jog, and was leafing through the work I’d brought with me when he returned. He must have started stripping his clothes off the second the front door closed because, by the time he arrived in the bedroom doorway, he was clad only in black boxer briefs and grey athletic socks. His grin was huge and playful as I goggled at him in surprised amusement, and his eyes never left mine as he finished undressing. Then, gloriously and unashamedly naked, he strode across the room to hoist me over his shoulder, carrying my shrieking and wriggling form into the bathroom. My thin cotton shorts and panties were soaked when he finally swept them off my legs, and not just from the steaming water pouring from the showerhead. But he insisted the pale blue t-shirt stay on, clinging to my body as he fucked me mercilessly against the tile wall, his teeth constantly working at my nipples through the now transparent fabric.

Once sated and dressed, we ventured out into the late afternoon damp so that Tom could attend to the business end of his homecoming: post office box, management office, grocery store. Everywhere we went, everyone we encountered put another facet of his personality on display. To the sixty-something year old postman who thought “The Avengers” meant Steed and Mrs. Peel, he was the sweet and friendly neighbor. To the gaggle of gobsmacked teen-aged girls at the corner of Margaret and Regency, he was the dashing and humbly wonderful heartthrob. To Michael and Vincent and Janis, he was the crisply professional and deferential client. And when it was my turn to be a little star-struck after running headfirst into Ben Whishaw in the elevator, he was the excited and proud (if a touch adorably possessive) boyfriend. Every little piece, all subtly different, all genuine and real. My Tom.

_I’m his, and he’s mine_.

Some days I would visit him at the theater and sneak glimpses his first few rehearsals. Others I explored my new surroundings with a mixture of surreal excitement and nagging guilt, knowing that I should be spending Tom’s busier times working myself. Finally, one morning, I awoke before dawn with a sudden burst of inspiration and slipped out of bed, firing up my laptop on the desk in the den. That’s where Tom brought me tea and fruit before heading out for his day, and it’s where he found me when he returned home just after nine. I was reading Grace’s response to the first draft I had sent her:

_“Sounds like someone’s getting her mojo back. I hope you know you’ve gone too deep for this to be a standalone. Dig in. I’ll tap Vogue, VF. You know they’ll want it, probably enough to offer an advance, but only if your plan is to write it all out and give them the full deal. You’re onto something good here, Chelle. See it through. – G.”_

Tom leaned over my shoulder to press a kiss to my cheek. “That sounds promising,” he murmured, eyeing the message while nuzzling my temple. “Anything I can read yet?”

I reached up and closed the computer with a snap. “Not yet,” I answered, worrying at my lower lip a bit. “Is that okay?”

I could see the disappointment in his eyes, but he smiled warmly, wrapping his arms around me. “Of course it’s okay,” he reassured me. “I understand the process, but…” His eyes searched mine for a moment. “You will let me read it eventually, yes?”

“Of course,” I smiled, resting my forehead against his. “I’m actually kind of excited for you to read it. But…” I blew my hair back off my forehead. “It’s just not quite there yet.”

He hummed softly in concession, and I watched him glance around the desk at the empty cups and plates. His large hands closed on the junctures where my neck met my shoulders, squeezing, his thumbs rubbing in deep, sweeping arches, and I groaned in appreciation. “You’ve barely been out of this chair all day,” he concluded. I could hear the desire in his voice, that heady timbre that turned my tongue to lead and my belly to molten liquid. I let my head loll from side to side beneath his massage, affirming quietly. “I was going to sweep in and take you out to a late dinner,” he mouthed against my ear, “but I think you’re carrying far too much tension to enjoy yourself.”

I shivered at the suggestion, my mouth dry, my nipples hardening to rigid points. I nodded, knowing my voice had fled.

There was a beat of silence as he continued to rub my neck, my shoulders, his breath hot on my cheek. Finally, a tender kiss on my ear. “Do you trust me to take care of that for you, love?”

My eyes rolled closed as the question hung in the air, the insinuation heavier than the simple words, another threshold waiting to be crossed. I hesitated a moment, not because I wasn’t certain of the answer, but rather because I wanted him to know for certain that I was. “Yes, Tom, I trust you.”

I felt the electric thrill that flowed through him, the heat of his desire as he swallowed it down. “I need a word, love.”

We both knew what he meant. I turned my head, brushing my lips against the corner of his jaw. “Iris.”

He nodded, his hand rising to caress my throat as our lips met, soft, warm, and hungry. And then he rose, towering over me, his hand held out in silent invitation. I accepted it, rising from my chair. We climbed the stairs in silence, and once we’d reached the top, he swept me into his arms, carrying me bridal style into the bedroom as if I weighed no more than a leaf on the wind. He set me on my feet at the foot of the bed, and brushed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Stay here.”

I did as I was told, fidgeting on my toes and chewing a bit at my thumbnail as he disappeared into the closet. My breath caught in my chest when he emerged a few moments later, eyes hooded, expression predatory yet calm, tall and broad and full of command. Several of his silk ties hung loosely from his fingers; he draped them smoothly over the end of the mattress. Standing before me, he slowly unbuttoned his back linen oxford, letting me see every line of flexing muscle as he stripped it from his shoulders. Tossing it casually aside, his fingers moved to the buckle of his belt, opening it first, then the fly of his jeans. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the roll of his hips as he stepped closer; it took a gentle hand under my chin to lift my gaze back to his. His eyes were dark but clear, his jaw set in silent determination. His voice was warm and husky when he spoke: “Who is in control here, Michelle?”

I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “You are, Tom.”

He nodded, a ghost of a smile teasing the corners of his lips. “Do you trust me to give you what you want, what you need?”

I nodded slowly. “I do.”

“And if you need me to stop?”

“Iris.”

I’d begun to tremble, and he lifted my hand to his lips, kissing my fingertips. “I love you, beautiful girl.”

“I love you, too.” I let my head fall back on my neck, inviting him to claim my mouth as well. But his grin was impish delight as he took a step back, then moved with silent grace around behind me. I could feel his chest against my back, his heartbeat so calm and steady. It didn’t stop my shoulders from tensing up, however, when the first strip of soft silk covered my eyes.

”Shhh,” his breath was warm in my ear, soothing as he tied it gently in place, taking care not to make the blindfold too tight, or to catch any of my hair in the knot. “Trust me.” I took a hitching breath and nodded, leaning into him to draw confidence from his warmth. His hands returned to their gentle massage as his lips danced shivers along my neck. Every sensation intensified by the darkness, I could feel the first fine sheen of perspiration dampening the tiny hairs along my forehead and the base of my skull. “Mmm,” Tom hummed against my nape, pushing the curtain of my hair aside to expose the delicate skin. “You smell so good.” He bit down carefully, and my lips parted in a soundless gasp as he sucked softly. “You taste even better.”

His fingers traced the borders of the straps of my cotton tank top, pajamas I’d never bothered changing out of when the words started flowing from my fingers to the screen. Every hair stood on end as his touch moved over my shoulders, down into the vee of my cleavage, and back up again. “Tell me, love,” he murmured, catching the seams between thumb and forefinger. “Any sentimental attachment?”

I had to swallow and dart my tongue out to wet my lips before I could answer. “No.”

“Good.” I could hear the smile in his voice, and he pulled me back against him just a bit closer. The thin material was no match for his strength, and I could not suppress a tiny whimper as he tore it slowly and deliberately down the middle. I was bare underneath, and the cool air caressed my skin, pebbling it and making it rise hungrily, seeking the heat of his hands. But after slipping the tattered shirt down my arms and dropping it to the floor, his touch was decidedly absent. I arched invitingly against him, my hands reaching back, sliding along his hips. But he caught me by the wrists, his mouth against my ear, his breath only slightly quicker as he spoke. “Don’t touch me. Touch yourself.”

_Oh, God…_ “Tom… I…”

“Shhh,” his palms skated lightly up to my shoulders. “Don’t think, love. Just show me.” His mouth descended to my shoulder, flickers of his tongue, nips from his teeth. “ _Show me_.”

Moaning low in my throat, I flattened my hands against my stomach, fingers splayed wide. I slid up slowly, a lazy caress, lifting my breasts on the heels of my hands. I felt his lips stutter against my neck, and an electric thrill ran through me. I closed my fingers around the aching flesh, swiping my thumbs over my nipples to make them swell and harden even more than they already had, and was rewarded with a thrust of Tom’s hips against my ass. “Perfect,” he whispered, so still, so composed. “More.”

I caught each pert bud between my fingers, twisting, tugging, and seeing in my mind’s eye how the coral hued skin flushed to a deeper shade of pink. I could feel Tom’s gaze burning over the landscape as he watched, could smell his spicy, oaky scent as his own excitement began to leak from his pores. I twisted my head on my neck, finding his throat with my lips, feeling tendon and ligament glide beneath his skin as he swallowed hard. His hands slid down my arms to cover my mine, learning what I liked, teaching what he wanted. He would caress the sides and swells of my breasts while I teased the tips, and then draw my touch back so that I could cup and plump the flesh in offering to his rougher, more demanding fingers. Each pull and drag carried the tiniest nips of pain that sent tendrils of arousal coursing straight through to my core, and I pressed my shaking thighs together as the floodgates between them opened.

Slowly, Tom’s hands skated down my ribcage, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of my shorts and panties together. I held my breath as I felt the fabric bunch in his hands, then exhaled in a rush as it tore as well. He reached for my breasts again, letting the cloth slip down my legs, offering me balance as he purred in my ear, “Step out, love.” I obeyed, pushing the garments off my ankles and nudging them aside with my toes. “Spread your legs,” he commanded, rolling his body against me in encouragement. I mewled quietly as I did, the loss of pressure leaving me achingly empty. “Are you wet for me, sweetheart?”

“God, yes,” I sobbed, pressing my head back against his shoulder.

“Show me,” he whispered, circling my areolas with his thumbs. Biting down on my lower lip, I slipped my fingers down between my folds, shivering at the slickness I found. I stroked myself languidly for a moment, until Tom closed his hand around my wrist, bringing my fingers to his lips. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, and as he drew them into his mouth, he pressed two of his own deep into my cunt. I cried out, lifting up onto my tiptoes, my other hand gripping his muscular thigh. He bit down gently on my fingers, his tongue stroking over and around and between them, sucking every trace of my fluids from my skin. The sensations that flowed through me were pure erotic thrill, and I twisted my hips, grinding into his touch, seeking more.

“Oh, yes, you like this,” he crooned against my cheek, releasing my hand to slide his fingers into my hair. He pulled my head back, forcing my posture into a taut bow. His fingers continued their torturous drag, back and forth, but he was careful to only just brush against my g-spot, and he avoided my clitoris altogether. I whined a little through my nose, and he chuckled warmly. “Patience, love,” he bit lightly at the corner of my jaw. “We’re just getting started.”

I don’t know how long he held me there, fucking his fingers into me with practiced, graceful thrusts, kisses dancing from my temple to my cheek, down my neck to the juncture of my shoulder where his teeth would nip and tug with careful persistence. I do know that, by the time his thumb finally met my swollen clit, every nerve and muscle in my body was thrumming with taut energy. I had thought that my orgasm would crash through me as soon as he gave that stimulation I craved, but it didn’t. It flitted elusively through my lower belly, burning hot but closely, agonizingly contained. Tears began to leak from my eyes, wetting the silk that bound them. “Tom…” I sobbed softly.

“Beg for it, love.” His words were calm, almost comforting, and anything but cruel.

I grabbed at his hips, his lower back, seeking any kind of hold that could leverage me against his touch. “Please, Tom, please,” I begged, wanton, unashamed. “Please let me come.”

His hand sped up, thrusting with more force but still so controlled, still keeping me right on the edge. “More,” he urged, rocking his hips against my ass so that I could feel his cock straining his boxers through his fly.

“Oh, God, Tom, please,” I was nearly wailing. “Please, please, please let me come…”

He groaned softly into my hair and filled me with three fingers, thrusting directly against my g-spot. At the same time, he flickered his thumb over my clit, pressure just firm enough, and oblivion opened beneath my feet. I could hear myself calling his name, over and over, as wave after wave of molten satisfaction flowed through every inch of my body. And then he was rocking me as I slumped against him, turning me, lifting me, swallowing every gasp and moan that dribbled out of me like rain.

He carried me around the side of the bed and lay me down in the center of the mattress, tenderly slipping a pillow beneath my head. My fingers fluttered to the blindfold; he caught them in his own. “I want that to stay on, love. Can you manage?”

“But… but I want to see you,” I mewled, slight petulance in my voice.

I could hear him inhale, exhale, and he kissed my fingertips. “I want that to stay on, love,” he repeated calmly. “Can you manage?”

I pouted my lower lip for a moment before nodding. “Yes. If you want me to.”

“My good girl.” I could hear the smile in his voice, his words wrapping around me like a warm blanket. “I love you so much, Michelle.”

“I love you, too, Tom,” I managed before his mouth covered mine, coaxing my tongue to dance with his.

A few deep, sweet kisses, and I felt the bed shift as he rose. I could hear the soft whisper of fabric, and my eyes went wide beneath their barrier as I felt him guiding my hand toward the headboard. He slipped the bond around my wrist, soothing my shivering as he cinched it to his liking. I could feel his fingers sliding under the cuff to make sure it wasn’t too tight, and he leaned over to brush his lips to my forehead. “Tug for me, love.” I did, testing the restraint. It gave only a little, and I could twist easily within it. I could hear his hum of approval, and my ears followed his movements as he repeated them at my other wrist and both my ankles. When he was finished, I was spread-eagle, exposed, trembling. He traced one fingertip along the inside of my ankle. “Are you all right?”

I nodded. “I’m fine.”

“You remember your word?”

I licked my lips and nodded again. “I do.”

A quiet clink of metal, the rustle of denim, and I wished I’d insisted the blindfold come off. I could picture him, long and lean and bare, the new layers of muscle he’d put on for this latest role rippling under his skin. I could imagine his eyes, dark and hooded, his jaw set, his lips curved in a hungry grin. The bed dipped, and I could feel his knees against the insides of my legs. For a long moment, there was nothing. And then, the feathery warmth of his breath just above my hip. The tickle of the tip of his tongue. I yelped as he bit down, catching a thin fold of skin and tugging briefly before descending to the center of my pelvis. Another nip to the skin just above my curls, and then he nuzzled his way lower. I lifted my body in offering, but he pushed me firmly back down, moving to the other thigh with a teasing chortle. His lips closed on the soft flesh and sucked heat to the surface until I was wriggling beneath him.

The swat he delivered to the inside of my thigh was little more than playful, but it made me jump and squeak all the same. “Hold still,” he instructed, his tone warm, but oh, that slight dark warning that made my body drip welcoming atonement from my core.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” I gasped. “I’m trying.”

“Try. Harder.”

“I will,” I nodded frantically. “I promise.”

Apparently satisfied, he lowered his mouth once more. I wrapped my fingers around my restraints, white-knuckling them as he continued, biting, sucking, soothing the marks with soft kisses from his lips. “Beautiful,” he murmured, more to himself than to me, I felt a surge of proud happiness wash over me. I waited patiently as he went about his pleasure, certain I would eventually feel his tongue lapping at my folds, pushing into my slit, flickering against my clit. Instead, I felt him rise, kneeling between my legs, leaning over me. I felt his swollen cock graze my labia, and hitched upward to meet it.

This time, the slap landed on the curve of my hip. I squealed, picturing the blush it must have left on my burning skin. “I thought I told you to hold still.” His voice was still warm, but that hard edge was clearer, darker. And, dear God, did it make me wet.

“I’m s-sorry, Tom,” I stammered. “You did. I-I’m sorry.”

I could taste his breath as he leaned close. “Do you know what’s going to happen if you move one more time without my say-so?”

I started to shake my head, but my body went boneless as he began to rock his rigid length against my sex, bathing it in the fluid that was spilling down onto the sheets beneath me. Up and down, back and forth, until I was certain his skin was glistening with it. And then he sat up, and I could hear the wet sounds of his fingers sliding over his shaft. My mouth bowed in dismay. “T-Tom… please…”

“That’s right, sweet.” I could hear a slight breathlessness in his words. “I’ll just sit here and stroke myself off. Not my first choice, I admit,” a small grunt punctuated his words. “But you are a lovely sight, bare and helpless and aching to feel me inside your tight little cunt.” He chuckled a little. “It won’t be difficult at all, really. Watching you struggle and pout while fisting my cock, knowing that, if I run dry, I can just use your wet little pussy to lube up once more.” I gasped as he traced a fingertip around my navel. “And when I’m finally ready to come… all these pretty places to chose from… your belly, your breasts, your beautiful face…”

I clenched my teeth in frustration, feeling the heat from his body so close to my sex, hearing the delicious slide and slap of his skin on his skin, determined to stay still as stone until he relented. He took his time; I could hear his rhythm, fast and furious as he drove himself to his pinnacle, only to slow with a sensual sigh, letting the wave recede until he decided to build it up once more. Delicious agony.

“Such a good girl, trying so hard for me.” I could feel him teasing the head of his cock over my slit, tempting me to rise up and swallow him into me. Tears were soaking the tie across my eyes and my fingers hurt from their grip on my restraints, but I held on, willing myself to wait, to show him, to prove to him that I could do it, that I would do it, for him. Finally, he thrust, and I screeched as he filled me to the hilt, his hips angled upward to hit every sensitive pressure point inside me. “Now remember, love,” he whispered in my ear. “Don’t. Move. I may be inside you, but I still don’t have to let you come.”

_Oh, you fucking asshole…_

Part of me wanted to scream it at him, to cry out that word, the one that would bring this all to a grinding halt, consequences be damned. But something else inside drove me, as hard as he was driving inside me.

_I want this, I want this, oh, God, I really do want this._

It took every ounce of discipline I could summon, but somehow, I managed to stay still beneath him. My body was taut and rigid at first as I clenched, frustrated by not being able to participate in my own pleasure. But as Tom continued to move above me, giving and taking in equal measure, as his breathing sped up, hitched, hissed between his teeth, mine began to steady, to flow deep and even. My muscles began to slowly unlock as he pumped his hips, harder, faster. By the time he was gasping out that he was close, I was limp in my bonds, utterly pliable, floating on the cresting wave of his ecstasy. His large, strong hands slid under my ass, lifting me up, tilting my pelvis just right. I closed my eyes beneath the blindfold and surrendered, and as he called out my name in rapture, the heavens opened up inside me, ravaging me, turning me inside out until there was nothing left but brilliant white light and the pounding of Tom’s heart against my chest.

“Michelle… come back to me, love…”

“Hmmm,” I hummed softly, my head turning drunkenly on my neck towards the sound of his voice.

“Open your eyes, love, and come back to me.”

The blindfold was gone, but my lids were heavy; it took herculean effort to roll them back. Colors swam into focus, and I watched Tom’s handsome face split in a beautiful smile when I was finally able to focus once more. “There you are, sweetheart.” My arms and legs were unbound and my body was curled against his beneath the covers, his heat soaking into me. I felt his hand slip under my head, and something cold and hard met my lips. “Sip slowly,” he instructed quietly. The water was icy and delicious, and I whimpered a bit when he withdrew it from my gulping mouth. “Slowly, love, slowly.” A few frigid drops slid down my chin and I gave a full body shiver. I heard the slosh as Tom set the bottle aside, and purred as his arms circled me, drawing the blankets up over my shoulder. My arms were tucked between our chests, and his fingers found my wrists, rubbing carefully at the fading red rings. “Any tingling?” He asked. “Numbness?”

I shook my head, gazing up at him in undisguised adoration. “No.”

“What about your toes?” He asked, then groaned as I tucked the chilly appendages in question under the heated flesh of his legs.

“Nope,” I giggled. “Just a little cold.”

“Brat,” he grinned, nuzzling my cheek. “Any pain anywhere?”

I shifted experimentally; other than a trace of stiffness, I felt amazing. Like I was glowing from the inside out. “No,” I assured him. “No pain.” My eyes searched his. “Did…” I swallowed audibly. “Did you leave any marks?”

He nodded, caressing my jaw with one finger. “A few.”

My heart gave a queer leap. “I want to see.” I threw back the covers and attempted to sit up, only to have his arm catch me and draw me back down a split second before the dizziness hit square behind my eyes.

“Later,” he chided tenderly, moving the blankets back up to my neck before snagging the water bottle once more. “You’re still coming down, love. Lie back and be still.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he helped me to drink, his fingers combing my hair back from my face as I swallowed. “Tom,” my voice was tiny. “Ha.. have you ever done this before?”

He smiled down at me, pressing a soft kiss above my brow. “Not really,” he sighed. “I’ve had a few… encounters… that played to a power struggle. Enough to realize it’s something I wanted to explore further. But,” his eyes moved over my face like a caress. “An actual relationship… where the woman I’m with submits to me completely?” He shook his head. “No, Michelle, I’ve never had anything like this before.”

I dropped my gaze to his throat, my fingertips plucking absently at the downy hair on his chest. “But…” I drew in a deep breath. “This is what you want? My…” My mouth groped for the word. “Submission?”

“Yes,” he answered, quiet but firm. “Yes, sweetheart, I would very much like for you to submit to me.” His thumb under my chin lifted my face, bringing my eyes to his once more. “Is that something you want to do?” His expression was largely neutral, but I could see the spark of hope burning deep inside the turquoise pools.

“It is. I mean, yes, But… do you,” I worried my lip for a moment. “Would I… I mean, do you want me to call you certain things, wear certain things? Do you have a list of… rules…?”

He threw his head back and laughed, a warm, inviting chuckle that unlocked the tightness in my chest and made me giggle along with him. “Honestly, Michelle, I don’t know. I know there are a great deal of preconceived ideas that go with what I’m asking, and yes, quite a few of them hold great appeal to me.” He traced his thumb over my lips. “But I’m not asking for a twenty-four-seven slave who crawls around in a thick leather collar calling me ‘Master’. Although, if we’ve nothing else to do on a Friday night…” I felt my face flush as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I want you to be mine. I want you to trust me. I want you to obey me. What that means, detail to detail…?” He sighed and drew me closer to him, tucking my head under his chin and rubbing his palms over my back. “We talk, we discuss, we decide together.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Does that work for you?”

I squirmed enough to turn my face up to his. “It does.” I smiled, craning my neck to kiss his lips. “I love you, Tom.”

I could feel his fingers gently tugging a lock of my hair. “I love you, too, beautiful girl.”


	18. Chapter 18

“Michelle, love, we’re going to be late.”

“No, we’re not,” I called over my shoulder before leaning closer to the mirror, brushing mascara over my lashes before swiping some tinted gloss over my lips. Fluffing my hair, I stepped back to scrutinize my appearance one more time as Tom stepped into the bathroom, his mobile pressed to his ear.

“Jack,” his eyes met mine in the reflection. “Would you please tell your daughter that she looks amazing and that if we don’t leave soon, my sisters are going to have our heads?”

I stuck my tongue out at him as he activated the speaker function on his phone. “Michelle, you’re beautiful, darlin’.”

I snorted as I slid into my heels. “You can’t see me, daddy.”

“Don’t need to, honey. You’re always beautiful.” Tom cocked a told-you-so eyebrow and I rolled my eyes, suppressing my squeal as he landed a sharp smack to my backside when I passed him. “Now you two go and have a nice time. And Tom? You make sure you check them weather strips on your windows, now. I been in London in December once, it gets damn cold.” I covered my mouth with my hand to silence my adoring laughter as Tom nodded at the cellular.

“I’ll do that, Jack,” he indulged pleasantly. “I promise.”

“And keep them tires up. Jag’s are nice, but black ice don’t care how much you paid for your car.”

“Yes, sir,” Tom answered respectfully as I mouthed a silent “I love you” through my giggles. “And you keep warm there as well, all right? We’ll call you on Wednesday.”

“I’ll be here. Love you, baby girl.”

“Love you, too, daddy.”

Tom disconnected the call, and I burst out in another flood of laughter. “He really, really likes you.”

He grinned broadly, his tongue peeking out from between his teeth. “I like him.” He slid the phone into his pocket before slipping his jacket over his shoulders. “Did I tell you he called me when I was at the theater the other day? Out of the blue, wanted to know all about my rugby days.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” I cooed, securing an earring into place. “I should email Jeanine a copy of your schedule so he doesn’t interrupt again.”

“No, actually,” his expression was sweetly boyish. “It was great.” The faraway look in his eyes lingered for a minute, tugging at my heartstrings, before he shook his head a bit as if to clear it. His gaze caressed me from head to toe. “You really do look beautiful.”

I smiled, smoothing my hands down the front of my dress, purchased specifically for the occasion, twisting a bit to make the skirt flirt and flare around my calves. The burgundy silk was the same shade as his tie, and I slid my hands over the grey linen that covered his broad shoulders as he drew me in to kiss me softly.”Mmm, careful,” I whispered as his palms cupped my buttocks. “You start that and we _are_ going to be late…”

It was December twenty-third. The Donmar’s _Coriolanus_ had opened to rave reviews, and Tom had been working nearly non-stop for weeks. It was difficult to accept that I’d be spending Christmas an ocean away from my father, but Josie had graciously allowed Tom to take a few days off to make sure I wouldn’t feel completely alone during the holiday. He had made good in an amazing way, starting by dragging a beautiful Douglas fir through the front door before sunrise on the first morning of his break. We spent the morning and early afternoon shopping and lunching in Piccadilly before returning home to decorate. We ate dinner a bite at a time while hanging ornaments, and when we were done, we made love on the rug in front of the fireplace, the white lights he’d strung through the branches twinkling above us like stars.

News of his unexpected hiatus had thrilled his sisters beyond belief, and they had thrown all of their energy into planning a last-minute get together at his mother’s house. And so we drove through the early evening fog, hands linked over the gearshift, singing along with the carols on the radio.

I had met Tom’s mother a few times already: an introductory dinner at the Ember Yard, lunch before attending one of his matinee performances, a shopping spree where she and his younger sister helped me select most of his gifts that sat under the tree at home. Regal, elegant, fiercely proud of her son, I found it hard not to be intimidated. But she was warm, welcoming, and amused by my tendency to babble when nervous. I wouldn’t have called us friends, exactly, but it did seem we were at least on our way.

Tom’s sisters, on the other hand, I adored from the first “girls’ night” I’d hosted in Tom’s flat while he was at a late rehearsal. As bubbly and energetic as he was himself, they were eager to learn everything I was willing to share, and even more anxious to share stories of their own. The way his older sister would read him scary stories beneath a blanket in her closet when he was seven. The bicycling mishap at nine that had left the scar on his chin. Sarah told me about his first crush at eleven: “Stick skinny, curly blonde hair to rival his own. Looked like a couple of q-tips, they did.” Emma took the story of his first “real” kiss at twelve: “He was terrified at the thought of putting his tongue in her mouth. Thought she might bite it if she found him a poor snog.” They both briefly touched on the difficult years from thirteen to fifteen: “He was our hero. Never let on he was hurting in front of us. Always clowning, making us laugh.” Every detail made me fall a little more in love with him: I’d attacked him that night when he finally arrived home, backing him against the front door and falling to my knees to yank open his jeans and suck him into my throat.

So my nerves were at a minimum when we pulled up to his mother’s modest but elegant home just before seven. Tom’s, however, seemed a bit taut as he slid the car in to park. I squeezed his fingers, cocking my head to catch his eye. “Tom? Is something wrong?”

“No,” he answered a little too quickly, a little too brightly. My brow furrowed in suspicion, and he abandoned the pretense, allowing the smallest bit of tension to clench the corner of his jaw. “Em called me this afternoon,” he sighed, caught somewhere between hopeful and uneasy. “My father is coming after all.”

My heart hiccuped a bit in my chest. I wanted to meet Tom’s father, but I knew that the strain on their relationship was not always easy for Tom to bear. He’d only discussed it with me twice, and the few words he’d spoken made two things clear: while he knew he had his father’s love and affection, he desperately wanted his approval as well; he also believed, in his heart, he was never going to get it. He covered it well, this chink in his otherwise princely perfect armor. But the eyes that gazed across the car interior at me now were clearly more boy than man, and I ached inside for him. I closed both of my hands around his and lifted it to my lips, kissing every knuckle. When I looked back at him, I offered him a broad smile. “I’m glad.”

His face lit up just a shade. “You are?”

“Mm-hmm,” I nodded, and he pulled his fingers free so he could caress my neck. I leaned into his touch and let my eyes slide shut as he stroked his thumb over my cheek. “I can’t wait to tell him how much I love his son.”

“Darling,” he was trembling a bit as he dragged me into his embrace, hugging me tightly.

Once we were inside his mother’s front door, almost all of the tension seemed to melt away, and the Tom that his fangirls love to swoon and sigh over was in full glory. Relaxed, happy, chatty, he introduced me to the strangers I hadn’t encountered before: aunts, uncles, cousins, a few lifelong friends. Dinner was delicious and frankly hilarious, as the assembled company shared tale after tale of this school play and that trip to the dean’s office and the time his mother accidentally broadcast one of his makeshift radio shows over the speakers to her book club instead of the audio version of their monthly selection. I couldn’t remember a time I’d laughed louder or longer. James arrived right before dessert was served, so our first introduction was a brief name exchange and a wave. But later, as everyone migrated from the dining room to the den, Tom pulled us both aside to the foyer.

“Dad,” his eyes were positively sparkling as he held my hand out in offering. “I’d like you to properly meet my Michelle.”

I couldn’t look at him; I was terrified my thoughts ( _I am going to do **such** amazing things to your cock when we get home_ ) would read plain on my face. So I locked my gaze on the handsome and dignified older gentleman who now closed his fingers around mine. “Mr. Hiddleston,” I swallowed a mouthful of nerves. “I am so happy to meet you.”

The elder Hiddleston smiled at me, warm, if a bit thin. “The pleasure is decidedly mine, my dear.” He dropped a smart little bow as he shook my hand. “I’ve heard a great deal about you these past few weeks.” I cut my gaze briefly to Tom, who blanched in surprise. “Emma,” James continued. “Girl seems to think you’ve hung the moon for our Thomas here.”

Tom chuckled, rocking back a bit on his heels, as if he should have been able to guess. “She’s not far off,” he confirmed, slipping an arm around my waist.

“Well, Tom has certainly changed my world,” I tucked in beneath his shoulder, resting my palm over his heart. I smiled up at him when I felt how it hammered within his ribcage. “Completely.”

“Mmm,” James hummed indulgently. “Transplant’s going well then?”

Tom laughed softly at my blank confusion. “Your transcontinental relocation,” he clarified for me.

“Oh!” I blushed a little, blowing my bangs back out of my eyes. “Yes! Yes, the move has been wonderful, thank you. London… so amazing… the history, the culture. It’s so different. Well, of course it’s different; it would have to be, wouldn’t it? But good different… really good…”

Laughing a bit harder, Tom leaned down to stop my mouth with a kiss while James removed his glasses and began to wipe them with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “Sorry about that, dad,” he smiled sweetly when we parted. “She tends to babble when she’s nervous.”

James smiled as well. “One of her more endearing qualities, I’m sure.”

His words were not entirely unkind, but I felt myself bristle beneath them all the same. And the way Tom’s arm tightened briefly around me, the way a shadow flitted across his features, I knew he’d perceived the slight, however miniscule, as well. “Yes, well…”

Before he could speak further, his cousin John popped his head around the corner. “Come on, you lot. There’s prezzies to open!”

“Ah, yes,” James shifted on his feet. “I should excuse myself briefly.” He patted my shoulder lightly as he stepped past us towards the bathroom. “See you two in there.” We watched the door close, then looked into one anothers eyes. His held the tiniest wisp of apology, and I drew his head down for a deeper kiss.

“I love you,” I whispered into his mouth.

“I love you,” he replied, his grin dazzling. “Beautiful girl.”

The gift exchange, at first, was a rather haphazard affair, with people trading small packages and tearing into them with aplomb. Sarah exclaimed over the antique typewriter Tom and I had found for her, and Emma’s eyes bugged out at the Marc Jacobs exclusives Russell had helped me get my hands on. My brow was furrowed as I unwrapped the admittedly gorgeous leather bound album from the two of them, until I opened it and practically shrieked in delight. “You bloody _traitors_!” Tom roared as I flipped through page after page of baby pictures, school photos, and candids from his childhood.

“Tom Hiddleston nudes!” I announced to the room, turning the book to display his adorably bare toddler backside as he buried his laughing face in his hands. “I could break the internet with these.” The room rolled with laughter as he snatched unsuccessfully for the album; I wriggled away to continue looking. Gloriously shaggy golden curls, huge blue eyes, quirky smiles. I hugged the volume tightly to my chest as I found his sisters’ self-satisfied gazes. “Thank you,” I spoke, almost reverently. “Thank you so much.”

A few moments later, someone placed my gift in Diana’s hands. “Oh, this one is from Michelle,” she exclaimed, smiling warmly at me. “You didn’t have to, dear, really.”

“I wanted to,” I smiled shyly in return, grateful when Tom wound his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“She’s going to love it,” he assured me in a whisper.

His mother carefully tore the silvery paper away, pressing her hand to her mouth. “Oh… my…”

“Mum?” Emma and Sarah were craning their necks, and my thumbnail found its way between my teeth. “What is it?”

It took a moment for Diana to remove all the paper and heft up the frame. But when she turned it to face the rest of us, I could see the tears glistening in her eyes.

The pictures were all black and white, different sizes. Tom and I had taken them ourselves, developed them ourselves. Sarah tucking her hair behind her ear as she bent to place money in the cup of a homeless man strumming a guitar on a street corner. Emma snugged in the corner of Tom’s sofa, his _Coriolanus_ script open on her lap as she ran lines with him. The two girls laughing over two pints on a mahogany bar as Tom leaned in above them. And Tom. On stage with Hadley, his hands gesturing between them. Snapping a selfie with a beaming eighty-two year old fan outside the Donmar stage door. Asleep on the sofa, one hand tucked under his head. And my personal favorite, the two of us in Regency Park. I remembered everything about that afternoon: his excitement at finding the Nikon’s timer, his insistence that we use it immediately, laughing until I cried at his inability to balance the damn thing on a nearby boulder to his satisfaction. “Fuck it!” He’d shouted, throwing his hands up and dashing over to take his place beside me. “It’s going to be crooked and I don’t give a shit!” I’d smiled towards the lens, until his fingertip caressed under my chin. “Look at me, love.”

The kiss was so warm I’d never even heard the shutter click.

“I told you,” Tom’s voice in my ear pulled me back to reality. Everyone had huddled close to the large frame, cooing and crooning over each picture. Diana had cleared her eyes like the proper matriarch, but was rising from her chair, arms open. Tom and I took our hugs in turn, but she lingered with me for a moment, tucking my hair behind my ear and straightening the dangle of my earring.

“Thank you, my dear,” she smiled. “It’s breathtaking.”

“Well, you did a lot of that,” I blushed, gesturing towards Tom and his sisters. “You made some really beautiful kids.”

She caught my chin gently in one hand. “So did your mother,” she said gently. “I daresay she’d be quite proud.” I was unprepared for such praise, and I found myself blinking against tears. I opened my mouth to thank her, but she brushed a dismissive hand, squaring her shoulders and taking my arm in both of hers. “Tea?”

It was after midnight when Tom and I finally fetched our coats from the closet, and his father met us at the door. “Dad?” Tom offered him his hand, and smiled broadly when his father used it to pull him in for a one-armed hug. “So good to see you… thanks for making it out.”

“Mmm,” James nodded. “Always good to see you, Thomas.”

He turned to me, and I offered my hand as well. “Mr. Hiddleston, it was so nice to have finally met you.”

“And you, my dear. Glad you’re getting on well.” He opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted when Emma bounded over, calling my name.

“Here,” she held out the photo album I’d left on the sofa. “Don’t leave without this.”

I laughed in relief as Tom groaned theatrically. “I was hoping you’d forget that,” he sneered at his sister, who pulled a face at him as well before grabbing and tugging his hand.

“Come ‘ere, mum wants you to sign something for Shelia’ daughter.”

I giggled as she dragged him away, then cooed as I flipped again through the first few pictures of chubby cheeks and flaxen hair and gummy pink drooling smiles. “He was such a cute baby!”

“Mmm,” James sniffed, looking over my shoulder. “He was, at that. Hiddleston men all come from good stock.” I nodded, trying to ignore his scrutinizing gaze. “Pity,” he continued at last. “Your fair skin and those dimples? Little cherubs, you could have made. Done the line proud.”

His comments drove through me like shards of glass. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. I could only stand, rooted to my spot by Tom’s mother’s front door, willing myself not to press my hands to the truly hollow hollow of my gut. I could hear the faint buzz of Tom’s voice as he returned, calling out final goodbyes and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I smiled mutely and stumbled through our departure, grateful for the bite of the cold winter air on my cheeks. I was fastening my seatbelt when he grabbed the back of my neck, leaning close to crush his eager lips to mine.

“Sweetheart, that was so wonderful,” he gushed when we parted. “I had such a good time – did you have a good time, too? You were so bloody perfect, I mean, you’re almost always perfect, but tonight? You were so relaxed and funny… you look utterly gorgeous… you didn’t let Jared get away with any of his usual shit and it was so hilarious to watch. And when you and Em started singing that song from _Wicked_... you never told me you could sing like that…”

I should have told him what his father had said to me. I should have told him that, as wonderful as things might have felt at the moment, the strings that held our life together were tenuous, gossamer, and would need solid reinforcement to keep from fraying and snapping. But he looked so happy, so _elated_. And my own feeling of emptiness was just so wretched, so unbearable. And it was Christmas, and his mother approved of me, and his sisters liked me… I couldn’t help it; I had to let his giddy excitement wash over me, had to let it trickle down through me and fill the void inside, had to let myself forget, if only for a while, that it would never truly go away. I lifted my hand, gently stopping his mouth with my fingers. “Hiddleston,” I chided gently. “I’m the one who babbles, remember?”

His smile was broad and brilliant, and he peppered my fingertips with noisy kisses. “I love you so fucking much,” he sighed, leaning back against his headrest. He cocked a salacious eyebrow as he twisted the key in the ignition. “And now…” He revved the engine.

I giggled. “And now… what?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I’ve got a present for you.”

“You do?” I sat straighter in my seat.

“Back at home.” He eased the car out of the driveway.

“Aww,” I slumped back against the leather. “All of our presents are back home.”

“Yes, but this one,” he grinned, full of self-satisfaction. “You haven’t seen this one yet.”

“I haven’t seen ANY of them yet,” I sniffed playfully.

“What I mean,” he snarled good-naturedly, “is that this one isn’t wrapped under the tree.”

“Really?” I leaned closer to him, boldly sliding my hand up his thigh to palm the sudden swelling beneath his zipper.

“Michelle,” he scolded, in his tone. _The_ tone. “Hands to yourself, sweet.” I retreated, pouting prettily against the passenger door. He cut his eyes to me briefly. “Does someone need to go over my knee when we get home?"

 _Yes._ “No.” I squared my shoulders, straightening my dress beneath my coat and crossing my legs before folding my hands primly on my knees.

Tom’s chuckle was velvet, genuine, and it thrilled me to hear it. “You’re a right little brat, aren’t you?”

I blinked at him, all wide-eyed innocence. “What? I’m being a good girl.”

His expression softened as he reached to caress my cheek. No game, no role. Just my Tom.

“You are my good girl, Michelle,” he whispered. “My very good girl.”


	19. Chapter 19

Light flurries of crystalline snow had just begun to drift to the ground when Tom eased the car into the driveway, his tongue caught between his teeth in an expression of delighted anticipation. His long legs carried him quickly around to my door and he held out his hand, helping me out and up the few stone steps. Once inside, he eased my coat off my shoulders, then held them firmly. “I need you to stay here for a moment, all right?”

The twinkle in his eye was excitement and mischief in one, and I couldn’t help but giggle. “All right,” I held his arm for balance as I slipped out of my shoes and handed them to him with a grin. “Take these with you?” He hooked the straps over two fingers and, after a quick kiss to my cheek, turned to take the stairs two at a time. Shaking my head a little, I padded into the kitchen, plucking a bottle of water from the fridge. I thumbed absently through the notes and envelopes stacked by Tom’s portfolio, mostly business correspondence and RSVP’s to Christmas and New Year’s Eve parties. I was reading over a revised shooting schedule for his next project when I heard hurried footsteps descending the stairs, and I grinned, dropping the page and crossing to meet him at the bottom. “Do I get my present now?” I smiled up at him cheekily.

“Yes,” he dropped a peck on the tip of my nose. “You do. Come on.” He laced his fingers through mine and led me up the stairs, taking care to walk at an angle that blocked my view of the wall behind him. I might have laughed at the effort, if it hadn’t been so amazingly sexy to watch, his legs and hips rolling as he climbed. Finally, at the top step, he took a deep breath and crossed to stand on my opposite side. My jaw sagged a little in shock. “Oh… Tom…”

The entire length of the upstairs hallway walls, which had previously been tastefully empty, were now latticed with elegant silver frames. Each frame held a different photograph, some in color, some in black and white, some old, some recent. All of them, however, were mine. The shots I’d taken in New York: the cabs and cabbies, the PA’s smoking in a cluster while their assigned parties schmoozed with the press, the women huddled around the mirrored wall in the conference hall for one last eyeliner check and lipstick application. There were pictures from my brief time in London: an elderly couple holding hands in line for the Eye, a lone sculler rowing his way across the Thames, the view of our rain-slicked street from the front window. There were pictures of Tom, but none of his face; he’d only included the shots I’d caught of his hands and arms.

And scattered among them, to my surprised delight, were pictures he could only have gotten from North Carolina. Pictures of me in pink bib overalls, tugging at the rope mane of a wooden rocking horse, no older than five. Of my father teaching me how to use chopsticks when I was eleven. Of my mother gazing day -dreamingly out the window while braiding my hair before a high school football game. “How…” I blinked, feeling the tears flick off my lashes. “How did you…”

“Your father,” he confirmed with a nod. “Jeanine and Susan did the packing and the shipping, but your father picked the snapshots.”

His fingers squeezed mine, and I ran a hand up and down his arm. “It’s amazing, Tom.” I turned my face up to his. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything yet.” His brow was quirked, playful.

“There’s more?” My stomach flipped a bit.

Nodding silently, he reached behind him, pushing open the door to the master suite.

I bit my lips together, exhaling a small laugh of delight through my nose. The russet drapes and cream colored bed clothes that I had joked made me feel more like I was sleeping in a boardroom than a bedroom were gone. In their place were matching linens of purple, black, and silver. And the bed itself had been replaced entirely, the single headboard frame abandoned in favor of the beautiful hand carved creation in front of me. I crossed the candlelit room to caress one of the polished, round mahogany posts that supported the top frame like well-muscled arms, ran my fingers over the sturdy footboard as Tom wrapped his arms around me from behind. “We can hang curtains from the top, if you like,” he murmured against my neck.

I hummed, running my palms over his forearms. “Something tells me,” I spoke breathily, “that curtains were not the first thing you thought of… suspending… from this beauty.”

His unembarrassed chuckle told me I was exactly right. “Still,” he nibbled my earlobe. “ Curtains might be nice for keeping out the cold winter mornings.”

“Maybe too nice,” I breathed, turning my head and brushing my lips against his jaw. “I already have a hard time getting out of your bed in the morning.”

“Michelle,” he turned me gently in his embrace. “That’s just it. Don’t you see?” He caressed my cheek, his eyes burning though me. “This isn’t just my bed. This isn’t just my room, my house,” he gestured towards the hallway and beyond. “This is _our_ bed, _our_ room, _our_ house.” He paused to take a deep breath, and I drew one in myself. “Michelle, I’m not asking you to give up anything you have anywhere else. I simply want you to understand,” he placed my palm over his heart, covering it with both his hands. “You are here. This is yours. _This_ ,” he gestured again at our surroundings. “Is yours. All yours.” He pressed my hand to his chest once more. “ _I’m yours_.”

I stood in silence, feeling the earth shift beneath my feet, compelling myself to let his words sink in. Making myself allow all the ramifications, the wonderful and the terrible, wash over me like the tide. He released my hands and took a step back, enough that the distance between us let cool air dance against my body where previously there had only been his heat. For one horrifying moment, I was certain he was going to drop to one knee and force my hand, force the conversation I’d swallowed the entire ride home to bubble to the surface like so much acid.

But he didn’t. He seemed unfazed by my silence, making me believe he was unaware of the turmoil twisting at my guts. He lifted his chin ever so slightly, and then shrugged off his jacket. Tossing it to the dresser, he lifted his hands to the knot at his throat. Sliding the silk tail free, he pulled it from his neck and let it flutter to the floor. His long fingers danced their way down his shirt, freeing button after button until he could pull the garment open, then off. He let my eyes trace their way over every line of taut muscle as he toed off his shoes, then pulled off his socks before standing straight before me again. The corner of his mouth twitched in an almost imperceptible smile as he unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. Linen trousers and soft cotton boxers slid down his legs together and he stepped out of them, nudging the fallen clothing out of his way with his foot. “I’m yours,” he repeated in a soft rumble.

I breathed him in like the air, smelling the wood and spice and citrus scent of his warm, golden skin. I memorized the line of his jaw, still smooth from his evening shave after his shower. The bow of his lips that flushed as I passed my tongue over my own. The ropes of sinew he’d nurtured these last weeks in his neck, his shoulders, his arms. His dark nipples were hard and his ribs moved deliciously inside his chest with every deep, even breath. His abs hitched a bit as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. His cock was filling leisurely, rising slowly from his downy curls in thick, uninhibited glory between his taut thighs. He took a step forward, then another, stopping just shy of contact. He looked down at me, plain, naked desire in his face. “I’m yours.”

“Tom,” I whispered, tilting my head back, offering my mouth. He danced his parted lips over and above it, letting me feel the radiant heat of his lips, taste the sweetness of his breath, but never meeting, never touching, never kissing. An agonizing, luscious tease, promise without fulfillment, burying the voice of doubt inside my head under layer after layer of ache and need and want. “Tom,” the word escaped my mouth in a whine.

His breathing was quick but controlled. “Bid me give you pleasure,” he growled, making my head spin.

I couldn’t hold back any longer. I plunged my hands into his curls and dragged his head down to mine, thrusting my tongue between his lips to taste him. He indulged me for a heartbeat before yanking away, his indigo eyes ablaze. My heart swelled as my knees weakened, arousal flooding the flesh between my thighs. “Hold me, Tom,” I begged. “Kiss me…”

His arms snaked around me at last, his lips crashing down on mine in the desperate kiss I’d been craving. I groped the muscles of his upper back as he claimed my mouth with his tongue, deep sweeping thrusts that rolled my eyes back in my skull. His palms flattened against my back as I pressed closer and closer until need for air forced me to twist away. Tom licked his bottom lip hungrily as he watched me reach for the ties that held my dress closed over my hip. I plucked them loose, my eyes locked with his as I wiggled out of the silk, letting it fall to the floor in a whisper. I cupped my breasts briefly in my hands, sighing softly as I squeezed them. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl, and I smiled teasingly as I slowly flipped open the clasp nestled in my cleavage. His own smile returned, predatory, when I bared myself to his gaze, but his hands remained at his sides, his fingers twitching. “Touch me, Tom,” I implored. “Put your mouth on me.”

We gasped together as he dragged me back into his embrace, latching onto the arterial pulse in my throat and sucking ravenously. I could feel the heat of his cock against my lower belly, scorching me through the lace of my panties; the sound he made when I rolled against it was almost inhuman. He released my neck, only to move lower, catching my breast in his hand and guiding my nipple to his mouth. His tongue was wet, wonderful; I arched into the sensation with a low moan of desire. He nipped me with his teeth and I tugged reflexively on his hair, drawing a velvety chuckle from his chest. “Tell me, Michelle,” he coaxed, rolling the firm buds between thumb and forefinger, his eyes looking up at me.

“Tom,” I purred, scratching my nails lightly over his scalp and making him shudder. “Put your face between my legs, and fuck my pussy with that amazing tongue.” His responding expression was dominant perfection; I might have been the one speaking the words, but he was still the one in control. We both knew it; I found it as comforting as I did thrilling.

“That’s my good girl.”

I had only made the mistake of buckling my garter belt and suspenders over my panties once; it cost me a matching set I’d been quite fond of, and even though the sacrifice was well worth it in the end, it was a lesson learned. Now Tom hooked his fingers easily into my waistband and dragged the lace down my legs, pressing a warm kiss to each knee as I stepped free of the fabric. The he pushed me gently back against the post of the bed before nudging my legs wide. I shivered as he danced open-mouth kisses over my belly, his tongue dipping into my navel, his teeth catching the lace of my belt and tugging, letting it snap teasingly back against my skin. His hands stroked up and down my legs, his fingertips slipping under the elastic cuffs at the tops of my thighs. “Hands above your head, love,” he directed, his tone husky with excitement. I obeyed slowly, dancing my touch teasingly up over my body as he watched. I gripped the bedpost in both hands just above my head before sliding my arms up to full extension, knowing exactly the imagery I was creating. Tom’s eyes narrowed, his mouth puckered in a softly exhaled, “ooooh”. I bowed my back, feeling wanton and whorish and coveted and cherished.

“All right, little showoff,” he cocked an eyebrow in challenge. “They better fucking stay there.” I nodded quickly, trying not to whine in need. He lifted one of my legs over his shoulder and, fixing his gaze on mine, aligned his tongue with my seam. I quivered under the constant gentle pressure, fighting the urge to buck and roll against his mouth, knowing he’d only pull away if I did. Slowly, the tip of his tongue began to pulsate against my folds, making them swell and flower for him. By the time he actually slid past the tight contraction of my entrance, I was holding onto the bed for dear life, the shaking leg supporting most of my weight threatening to fail me.

Tom’s silky chuckle vibrated through my core, and I felt his hand catch me behind that trembling knee. I tensed against his touch, resisting, and he pulled back, his eyes fiery and demanding. “Michelle.” His tone dark, quietly demanding. Whimpering softly, I let him lift that leg as well, now completely depending on his strength to keep me from falling to the floor. Satisfied, he bent his head once more, and my eyes slid shut as he pressed his tongue as deeply inside me as he could.

It didn’t take long for all of my self-conscious reservation to drift away on the tide of ecstasy he sent rolling through me. Stroke after stroke of his tongue, punctuated by tiny nips of his teeth and the sweet suckling of his lips, soon had my head rolling, barely tethered to my neck. His shoulders braced under my thighs, his hands cupped my buttocks, and he buried his face in my center until I was gasping and quivering, my fingers cramping around the wooden post in my grip. The tip of his nose grazed my throbbing clitoris and I squeaked, feeling the precursor of my climax begin to flood into his open mouth. He released my flesh at once, his head falling back to take in the sight of my helpless crescendo. His lips and chin glistened with my fluids, and I sobbed in frustration. “Tom… please…”

“Don’t worry, love.” He pressed a wet kiss to the inside of my thigh. “I’m going to let you come. On my cock.”

“Oh, God,” I wriggled brazenly against him. “Yes, Tom… fuck me.”

“I will,” his grin was full of self-satisfaction. “In time.” He let his words, and their implications sink in; only when he saw my lips bow in dismay did he dive back in, devouring me like a starving man.

I lost count of how many times he dangled me at the edge before bringing me back, reducing me to a vessel of pure sensation, experience, reaction. He suckled rhythmically at my outer lips, traced every ridge and curve of my inner labia, painted languid swirls in and around the clenching ring of muscle silently begging to be stretched wide. I lost myself utterly, somehow becoming an extension of him, existing not to think or choose or decide, only to feel, to delight, to surrender. His tongue tickled my clit as he eased my feet back to the floor, spreading me again so his fingers could fill me, finding and rubbing my-g-spot with exquisite precision. He rose to stand beside me, and I could hear his voice in my ears… “Let go, Michelle… let go…”

It took me a moment to realize he meant it literally, his free arm tugging at mine until my fingers unlocked and fell limply to my sides. He guided them to grip the footboard of the bed as he turned me, nudged my legs apart, filling me with his cock from behind in one leisurely stroke. He hooked his arms up and over my shoulders, pulling me down against him as his hips pistoned forward.

“Oh, fuck… Michelle,” he groaned softly against my ear before biting down on my neck. “My sweet fucking little minx.” His breath was hot, ragged, his body dancing that fine edge between quest and climax as he thrust, harder, harder. “I want you to come for me, love…”

“Yes, Tom,” I gasped, writhing against him. I moved to slide a hand between my legs, only to have him grab my wrist and wrench it gently but firmly behind my back.

“No,” he commanded gruffly. “Like this, just like this…”

I whined softly through my nose, a tiny noise of doubt. Tom had brought me to orgasm without clitoral stimulation before, but never in this position. He’d always been above me, kissing me, caressing me, urging me on with his eyes and lips. Without that, and with the added distraction of my unreliably quaking legs, I wasn’t sure I could give him what he expected. “Tom…”

“Shhh,” his chest pressed me forward a little, increasing the pressure in my lower abdomen. I could feel my pleasure mounting, but the familiar teasing tug that usually signaled my impending release just wasn’t there. I was trying to figure out how to tell him when it hit, a tsunami of hot, rushing electricity that exploded from a flashpoint directly beneath my navel and stretched tendrils of burning ecstasy through every fiber of my body. Every muscle seized, locking my scream in my throat as Tom’s roared from deep within his chest. I arched, harder and harder, somehow believing that bending myself completely in two would maximize the circuit, carrying the sensation on and on and on into oblivion. I was vaguely aware of Tom pulling out of me, rubbing his cock against my dripping pussy until his own release spurted up over my belly in creamy white jets of warmth. My legs buckled and I slumped in his arms, closing my eyes and yielding to the darkness.

We were tucked into the majestically soft linens when I blinked them open again. I was lying on my back, one of Tom’s hands splayed across my belly, the other toying gently with my hair. “Welcome back, sweet,” he cooed. His face was flushed, his eyes bright. “How do you feel?”

I took a moment to consider. My head was still swimming with an enjoyably low buzz, and there was a lingering tickle of coiling heat flexing and releasing at my core. “Wow,” I murmured, “that was…”

“Fucking astonishing,” Tom exclaimed. “I mean, I knew it would be intense for you, but I had no fucking clue it would feel like that for me.” He leaned close to tangle his lips with mine in a sweet searing kiss. “Thank you, darling, for trusting me.” He kissed me again, a mixture of passion and gratitude he’d never shown me before. When he pulled away, the confusion on my face made him laugh gently. “You have no idea what just happened, do you?”

I giggled a little myself. “I had a g-spot orgasm,” I replied. “The most ridiculously intense orgasm of my life…” His head fell back on his neck as he laughed harder. “What?”

“Michelle, love,” he kissed me once more. “You just gushed all over me.”

I blinked. “What? No. No, I’ve never…”

“You did,” his grin was pure Cheshire satisfaction. “There’s a wet spot on the carpet to prove it.”

“Oh, my God,” I gasped, burying my face in my hands. “What… how… oh, my God, I’m so sorry…”

His hands wrapped around my wrists and pulled them down, a firm finger under my chin lifted my gaze to his. “Are you?” He demanded softly. “Are you really?” I looked at him in confusion, and he continued. “You gave me your body to use as I wished. You surrendered to my touch, to my command, and you gave me exactly what I wanted. Your surrender allowed me to give you an experience you’ve never had before,” his right eyebrow rose, almost of its own accord. “And I daresay you enjoyed it enough to let me do it again. So tell me, Michelle,” he traced his finger along my jawline. “Are you sorry?”

I didn’t even have to think, the word falling from my lips with ease. “No.”

He smirked adorably. “I didn’t think so.” As quickly as his boyish smugness appeared, it disappeared once more, and his chin lifted a notch. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

I snuggled impulsively against him, hungering to feel every inch of his warmth. “I’m yours, Tom.” I could feel his fingers sliding up under my hair, the familiar smoothing stroke at the nape of my neck, the base of my skull.

“And?”

I grinned against his throat. “You’re mine.”

“I love you, little one.”

“I love you, too, Tom.”


	20. Chapter 20

The holidays came and went in a flurry of snow and parties and sweet, sweaty nights in our new curtained bed.

We lay in late Christmas morning before tumbling downstairs to open the gifts piled beneath the tree.  To say that Tom spoiled me would be an absurd understatement: a brand new digital camera with all the bells and whistles and a small photo printer, a brand new laptop with a gorgeous leather satchel, more lingerie than I could wear in a month.  The last box he handed me was the coup de grace: a sparkling necklace, three delicate platinum chains of staggered lengths, dotted with shining baguettes.  It took my breath away, and when I recovered from the shock, I tackled him to the carpet, covering his laughing face with kisses.

He chuckled over the elegant watch that his sister had helped me select (“You really hate the Tom-Tom, don’t you?”), was excited and touched by the books I’d found about the history of Greek theater, and bounced up immediately to hook up the vintage turntable and play the classic vinyls his mother had helped me acquire.  The Beatles were crooning softly through the speakers when he unwrapped the Fender Kingman V, the look on his face pure ecstatic joy.  “My God, Michelle,” he turned the instrument lovingly in his hands.  “It’s bloody perfect!”

Of course, all of that was topped, quite literally, after the sun had slipped below the Thames and the carolers had crunched through the snow to their homes and hearths.  Tom ascended the stairs after finishing an evening phone call wishing his mother a happy Christmas to find me on my knees in the center of our mattress in a decidedly unholy state: wrapped in the final present I’d purchased after extensive online research.  The underbust corset and front lace thong were, of course, royal purple satin, the belt and stockings black lace and silk.  I’d secured the comfort contour leather cuffs at my wrists myself, but the ligatures snaked across the bed for him to secure wherever and however he chose.  I’d plaited my hair in a tight, sleek braid, my bangs just long enough to hide my demurely downcast eyes.  He actually swooned a bit as he stood in the doorway, the blood rushing from his brain to tent the front of his sweatpants.  “Fucking Christ almighty,” he breathed, staring ravenously slack-jawed before stalking to the bed and launching an hours-long marathon of sweating and screaming satisfaction with one sweet, savage kiss.

The writing I had started shortly after arriving in London had taken on a life I never expected, and emails from Grace planted seeds of timid excitement in my gut as the piece evolved from article to multi-part essay.  And then, two weeks into the New Year, a thick eight by ten envelope arrived via messenger.  I had gotten used to signing for things: there were always offers and contracts and scripts coming in for Tom.  So I was surprised to see my name on the label; I nearly blacked out when I looked at the contents.  Two certified checks, one for two thousand dollars, one for ten thousand.  They were clipped to a lengthy contract, but a note in Grace’s elegant scrawl explained the highlights:

_“Time to move up a league, Chelle.  Doubleday loves it.  Ten thousand now, forty more when you meet/exceed three hundred pages.  The two is from VF to secure the preview._

_Congratulations, girl.  You’re an author.”_

The packet slid from my fingers and fluttered to the floor.  I blinked at my empty hand, then bolted for the kitchen.

After emptying my breakfast down the sink, I grabbed my phone and dialed with shaking fingers.  “Grace Burkhardt, please,” I hiccupped at the operator.  “Chelle O’Shea calling.”  A metallic click, bad muzak, and then a soft, feminine giggle.

“I take it you got the package…”

“Grace,” I coughed.  “I can’t do this.”  I swallowed another throatful of bile.  “This is… just… crazy!  No.  I’m not an author!  I can’t write a book..!”

“Chelle,” her voice was dry.  “What exactly do you think you’ve been doing this last month?”

“It’s an article, Grace! A… a… slice of life editorial.  A nice filler to put between the pictures of the spring line and 50 new and improved ways to please your man and the latest sex quiz! It’s not a book!”

She sniffed.  “There’s a senior editor at Doubleday that disagrees with you.”

“Well,” I stammered, choking back another wave of nausea and pressing my back against the wall for support.  “You need to call them.  Tell them they’re wrong… tell them I’m very flattered… and I’ll send back the check on Monday.  But… you have to tell them I can’t do it.”

There was a brief pause.  “No.”

“No?”  I blanched.  “You’re my agent, Grace, you work for me.  You don’t get to tell me ‘no’.”

“If you turn this down,” I heard her sigh.  “Then I’m not your agent anymore.”

My legs gave out; I slid to the hardwood floor with a thump.  “Wh-what?”

“You heard me.  You turn this down, and you can find yourself new representation.” 

My eyes began to tear.  “Grace,” I rasped, “it’s a stupid little piece about my old dad and my new boyfriend.”

“That’s one opinion.”  Her voice was softer, gentler.  “It’s a touching description of the evolution of one woman’s feminine identity in the new millennium.  That’s another opinion.  That’s Doubleday’s opinion.  That’s _my_ opinion.”  I’d begun to cry softly, and I know she could hear it.  “Is it going to make the New York Times Best Sellers list?  I don’t know.  But Doubleday seems to think it can turn a profit.”  She let me weep quietly into the phone for a moment.  “Chelle, I know you’re scared.  I also know you can do it.  What’s the worst that can happen?”

I pondered a minute.  “The critics could skin me alive and it could end up in fifty cent bins all over the country.”

She chuffed brusquely.  “Is that really what scares you?”  I didn’t answer.  “I didn’t think so.”

I swiped a hand across my dripping chin.  “It’s like asking me to stand naked in the middle of Times Square,” I admitted finally.

“So the world sees your tits and ass,” she laughed.  “They might just like them, you know.  Hiddleston sure seems to…”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her sudden and unexpected vulgarity.  “Grace…”

“Michelle,” she cut me off gently.  “You’re halfway there.  Dig a little further into the past.  Spend a little more time talking about where you are right now.  Speculate a little further into the future.  And don’t try to tell me it’s too hard; this piece has been flowing like wine since you started it.  It’s a story you were meant to tell.  So stop being such a bratty little peckerwood and tell it.”

I hadn’t expected Tom to come home during his break between rehearsal and performance.  If I had, I’d have hauled my ass off the kitchen floor, splashed some water on my face, dragged a brush through my hair.  As it was, he damn near tripped over me as he entered to snag a bottle of water from the fridge.  “Michelle,” he half chuckled.  “What the hell are you doing down there?”  He offered a hand, and I allowed him to pull me to my feet, pressing into his chest as he wound his arms around me.  “Hey,” hey chided softly.  “What’s the matter?”

“I think I need you to see something.”

As we walked into the den I’d been using as an office, as I queued up the document on my laptop and printed the first few pages, I explained.  “I don’t know where it came from,” I paced the floor behind him as he read, worrying my thumbnail down to the quick.  “It just… I sat down… and then the words were there.  And they just kept coming and coming.  And now Grace says they want a book.  And I don’t know if I can do it but she says that she’ll quit if I don’t at least try.  And I think I want to try but I don’t know if I can finish.  I’ve never done anything like this before, and I don’t really care if it’s not any good, but I can’t start something like this and not finish it.  Because then I’ll never be able to let myself try and do it again.  And I don’t know if I even _want_ to be that kind of a writer… Jesus, simple articles are tough enough as it is sometimes… I don’t know that I want to sign up for this for the rest of my career…”

He was in front of me, above me, his lips stopping mine as the papers in his hand crinkled in my ear.  “My God, Michelle,” he murmured when we parted, his eyes full of reverent awe.  “It’s _wonderful_.”

Grace could have told me that same thing.  A hundred different editors from a hundred different publishers could have said it, too.  But the only endorsement that mattered was the one I’d just been given.  “Really?” I offered him a small smile of childish hope.

“Michelle,” he laughed, his eyes shining.  “It’s you.  It’s _us_.”  He kissed me again, then crushed me to his chest in an enormous hug.  “You have to do it, love.”  He cupped my face in his hands, still gripping the sample I’d given him.  “You can finish it, I know you can.  Have they given you a deadline?  Or do you have some flexibility?  They’re coming to you, not the other way ‘round, so surely you’ll have some wiggle room…?  Will Seychelles be a working holiday?  That’s absolutely fine if has to be! We’ll sit in the sand and Ill rub your shoulders while you write!   I’ll tell Luke our place in Toronto will have to include some kind of private study, if you like, if that will make things easier…”

Now it was my turn to cover his mouth with my own, swallowing his words in a soft kiss.  “I love you,” I whispered, stroking the soft hair at the base of his skull.  “I love you so much.”

Something changed in his expression, a deep intensity I’d never seen before.  Squaring his shoulders, he laced his fingers through mine.  “Now I think there is something I need to show you.”

He led me upstairs, into the bedroom.  He stood me next to the bed, dropping a chaste kiss on my forehead before crossing to his dresser.  “I want you to know I had much different plans for this.”  He opened a top drawer and rummaged through to the back.  “Valentine’s day, as if that’s not cliché.”  He turned back to me, closing the distance between us slowly.  “Nothing too over the top, of course.  But… well… this seems like a better moment to seize.” 

He stopped mere inches from me, his large hands flipping open the small lacquered box.  Nestled in the black velvet was sparkling perfection.  Radiant cut, set into shining platinum, the main stone and band inset with at least a dozen purple baguettes.  His lips brushed my forehead again as I stared.  “Marry me, Michelle.”  I kept my head down, tears suddenly pouring from my eyes.  I resisted the finger that tried to lift my face to his, and after a heartbeat of silence he stepped back.

 “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I’m sorry…”

The grip that seized my neck was not violent, but it wasn’t the firm, gentle touch I’d grown so accustomed to, either.  And the eyes that met mine held a raging storm unlike anything I’d ever seen.  “Look at me,” he hissed.  I tried to twist away but his hold was like iron, and he towered above me with all the power and command of the murderous Roman general he’d embodied for weeks.  “You little coward!  If you’re going to rip my fucking heart out of my chest, you’re going to bloody well look at me while you do it!”

“Tom, please…”  I clutched at his wrists, my shoulders beginning to shake as my sobs took hold.  “Please… don’t do this…”

“Don’t do what, exactly, _darling_?”  He spat the endearment as if it were noxious to his palate.  “Offer you a life?  A life that’s pretty fucking fantastic?  A life that I’ve busted my fucking ass to offer you on a gilded platter from the moment I met you?  A life of love and travel and excitement and pleasure neither of us will _ever_ find with anyone else?”  He rocked back a bit on his heels, still gripping my neck.  “Oh, I’m a right bloody _bastard_ for that, aren’t I?  Right bloody fool, is more like it.”  He noticed he still held the pages of my work in his hand, and he released me enough to shake them in my face.  “And what’s all this?  Pretty prose, pretty words?”  He threw them aside; they fluttered to the floor like leaves.  “Pretty _lies_!”  He released me then, turning his back on me and pacing to the other side of the room. “Why?”  He seethed.  “You owe me that.  After all this time, you say no… you owe me a reason why.”

“All this time?” I sobbed.  “Tom…It’s barely been three months…”

“And I’m supposed to apologize for that?” He snapped.  “I’m supposed to feel badly that I don’t need a long , archaic courtship to be certain I love you?  I’m supposed to be ashamed of myself because I don’t think we need the entire fucking ridiculous back and forth that we both despise anyway?  You think I don’t know you well enough to know that I fucking want you, more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else, anything else?  Jesus Christ, Michelle, I fucking _live_ with you!  I fucking hold you while you sleep!  I know that you’ll snore a little if you lie on your back, and that no matter how long you’ve been under the covers, your feet will still be fucking freezing.  I know you never close the shampoo bottle, so if I knock it off the rack, it’s going to fucking spill everywhere!  I know your hair gets tangled in the shower drain and that you’ll steal my razors if I don’t hide them from you.  I know you fucking hate that I don’t sort the laundry proper, and I know you’ll never remember to put milk on the fucking shopping list.  I know that you can’t get pregnant and that you’re terrified that someday I’ll want to fuck a woman who can.  I know when it’s getting close to that time in your cycle from the way you fucking _taste_!  I know the way your eyes roll back in your head when I slide my cock into you at just the right angle and I know the noises you make when you come so hard you won’t be back to yourself until I’ve held you and rocked you and coaxed you back with my voice.  I. Fucking. Know. You.” 

He had continued to advance on me as he raged, his shoulders forward, his hands balled into fists at his sides.  I cowered into the corner, not because I was afraid he would strike me, but because I knew I would deserve it if he did.  By this time, I was crying so hard my breath would only come in ragged, hiccupping bursts, and I hugged my arms tightly over my chest.  “I-I-I’m sorry, Tom,” I stammered, over and over.  “I’m s-s-so sorry.”

His hands fell on my shoulders, and he shook me gently.  “Michelle,” he forced me to meet his gaze.  “Do you love me?”

I sniffled pathetically.  “Yes.”

“Then just say you’ll marry me.”

I wanted to.  I wanted to throw my arms around him, decorate his face with wet kisses, snatch up the ring he’d put so much thought into and slip it onto my finger.  But all I could do was stare at him, slumped into the corner of our bedroom, my breath coming in stuttering stacks of two and three. 

The final piece of my heart shattered as I watched the rage drain out of his face, replaced by bitter resignation and regret.  His hands released me and he rose to his full height.  I reached for him weakly as he turned, but my fingers only caught the edge of his leather jacket, and it slipped through my grasp as easily as wind as he turned away.  “Tom?” 

It was as if I hadn’t spoken at all.  He crossed the room in long strides; I listened to the thunder of his boot heels rumbling down the stairs. 

A slam of the front door, and I was alone.

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

Tom didn't come home that night.

I know because, after I managed to peel myself up off the bedroom floor, I dragged myself downstairs and curled miserably into the armchair just adjacent to the foyer.  I drained my cellular battery queuing up his number, only to freeze before activating the line, composing lengthy texts and then deleting them, checking again and again and again to see if some cosmic force had distracted me into missing a call or text from him.

I knew the times he’d be on stage, the times he’d be off.  I knew how long post-show business generally lasted; I knew how long the drive home would take.  I allowed an extra half hour for a larger number of fans at the stage door.  Then I allowed another hour after that for the possibility that he might join someone from the cast or crew for a drink.  An hour after that, I let my dead mobile clatter to the floor as I melted into myself, shaking and sobbing in grief. 

I cried in that armchair all night, waiting for the moment when his key would turn in the lock.  I prepared myself for his cold, aloof attempt to breeze past me for a shower and change of clothes before heading back to the theater.  By ten o’clock, I knew that wasn't going to happen; he’d have to be back at rehearsal by now.  I may have dozed on and off, but by eight that evening, I knew there was no chance of hearing from him before midnight.  So I trudged upstairs and sat under the shower, bawling and shaking until the water ran cold.   

When two a.m. arrived with still no word, I picked up my recharged phone and walked into our closet.  Two piles of his and hers suitcases: a small one for our planned island getaway, a larger one for our temporary relocation to Toronto.  I called British Airways and paid the extra bag fees along with the cost to change my tickets, then called a cab.  The driver was gracious enough to climb the stairs to drag down my luggage for me.  I locked the door behind me, then flipped open the mail slot, pushing my key through it to land on the doormat. 

Fourteen hours later, I arrived at my front door exactly as I had months before: alone, miserable, eyes and nose red and soggy and swollen.  Another twenty for a politely uncurious cabbie, and I stepped into my ruined sanctuary.

He was everywhere.  I could see him standing at the bay window, shirtless, pajama trousers, stretching as he watched the morning sun peek through the leaves of the trees.  He was filling the teapot at the kitchen sink, whistling softly through his teeth.  I could hear the creak of the front porch swing where he was waiting for me to come and curl beside him.  If I stood on the front porch itself, I would see him jogging back from his run on the beach.  The mattress was still on the floor in front of the fireplace.  I collapsed onto it, wrapping myself around the pillow that smelled of his hair and his skin and his sweat, keening like a wounded animal.  I cried until there were no tears left, screamed until my throat was broken and hoarse.

I fell into an altered state that could barely even be likened to sleep, where dark, sharp-fanged nightmares tore at my skin and hair.  I jerked upright, soaked in sweat, grabbing for my phone.  He smiled up at me from the lock screen, his picture unobscured by alerts for missed calls, voicemails, text messages.  With a shuddering sigh, I pushed myself up, my pounding head demanding that I at least drink some water, or else attempt to hack it off my shoulders with one of my sharper kitchen knives.  I downed a bottle in large, gulping swallows, rivulets trickling from the corners of my mouth before grabbing a second.  A few more sips, and I pushed my matted hair from my face.

“All right, Chelle,” I spoke out loud, needing to break the silence, shuddering at the airy raspiness that carried almost no tone at all.  “Shower, then grocery store.”  The tears that had become my baseline trickled from my eyes of their own accord; I swiped them impatiently away.  “You can do this.”  A tiny broken sob, and I squared my shoulders.  “You have to do this.  And it starts with getting that fucking mattress back in the bedroom.”

Grabbing a hair tie from the mishmash of junk on the counter, I fell into autopilot, whipping my hair into a ponytail before yanking the sheets from the mattress and shaking the pillows from their cases.  Tossing them into a pile, I grabbed the edge of the bed and flipped it up onto its side.  It slid easily for a few feet, hanging up at the corner between the living room and the hallway.  I struggled a few moments to lug it into alignment, then leaned heavily against it as I shoved it towards my bedroom.  Once there, I did my best to position it flush with the box spring, but when I let it go, it fell against my nightstand, knocking it sideways and sending its contents crashing to the floor.  I heard the bulb in the bedside lamp shatter with a pop, and something inside me broke right along with it.

My scream was inhuman as I unleashed my rage on everything I could get my hands on.  Picture frames, jewelry boxes, books and baubles, nothing was safe as I ripped and tore and hurled and struck.  My iPod speaker crushed the glass in my small flat screen television. My high school diploma, my college degree, my first editorial all found themselves in tatters on the floor in piles of mangled wood and shattered glass.  A few dresses I’d considered packing for London before choosing others hung on the outside of my closet door; I tore and clawed at them until they were nothing more than frayed and tattered scraps.  I caught a glimpse of myself in my splintered floor length mirror, my clothes rucked askew in my rage. A flash of fading purple at my hip, beneath my ear, and my fury turned inward.  I pummeled my thighs, my chest, and finally, my stupid empty abdomen.  I staggered back to the living room to collapse in the pile of discarded bed sheets, burying my tears in his scent, screaming his name.

Later, I traced my fingers over the bruises my knuckles had left on my flesh while soaking in a scalding hot bath.  As I slipped lower and lower, holding my breath as the water swirled over my face, the last rational corner of my mind began to broadcast a weak but persistent signal, one I knew I couldn’t ignore.  I realized that there was no way I could trust myself to be alone.  Maybe Tom would contact me, maybe not.  Maybe I would find the strength to reach out to him.  Maybe not.  But I knew, if I stayed with the silence that jangled between my ears, I would only seek out ways to crawl deeper into it – cold, dark silence.  I hauled myself from the tub to dress, stepping gingerly around the wake of my destruction.  I dragged the still-packed discarded suitcases to the trunk of my car, and jammed my cellular against my ear as I pulled out of the driveway. 

“Russell?  It’s Chelle…”

*          *          *          *          *          *          *

His new boyfriend was amazingly cute.  Mocha brown skin, perfectly round head shaved smooth, onyx eyes that danced when he laughed.  His name was Dennis, and he literally slapped my hand when I suggested I find a nearby hotel rather than barge in on their newfound domestic bliss.  He cooked in the kitchen while Russ settled me into the guest room, then dragged me and two bottles of Merlot to the sofa.  The tears were gone but the story poured out, like toxins from a wound.  They listened with genuine loving sympathy, Denny giving me gentle little pinches and pokes when I picked at my dinner rather than eating it.  As Russ cleared the dishes, he scooted over behind me, unwinding my braid with dexterous fingers.  I managed my first smile since seeing the ring.  “What are you doing?”

“I know all about you, girl, and that means I know your mamma was a hairdresser.  Which  means doesn't matter what hurts, your head, your gut, your body, or your heart; there ain’t nothin’ gonna make it feel better quicker than this.”  He began to stroke my hair, combing it out, fanning it over my back, letting it fall through his fingers in a feathery cascade.  And he was absolutely right; the sensations slammed me back into my twelve year old self as quick as a blink, and the floodgates opened once more.  He rocked me against his chest as I wept softly, this friendly stranger, and I had never been more grateful for comfort in my life.

Russell returned from the kitchen with bottle number three open and breathing in his hands.  “So,” he poured me a refill.  “What now?”

I shrugged numbly.  “I think it’s pretty safe to say it’s over.  He has to have been home by now.  He’s seen the key; he knows I’m gone.  And he hasn't called, hasn't texted.  The earth may as well open up and swallow me.”

“You could call him.”  He urged gently.

“And say what?” I laughed bitterly.  “Hi, sweetie, I know I said no to your beautiful and completely heartfelt proposal after one of the happiest times in our lives; how do you feel about my saying yes now that I’ve yanked your heart out of your chest and stomped on it?”  I took several long swallows from my glass.  “Those are his words, by the way.”

“It’s something,” Russ offered quietly.  “It would open a dialogue.”

“Yeah,” I scoffed.  “A dialogue wherein he will call me a selfish, impulsive, inconsiderate, short-sighted, manipulative bitch and he will be completely correct.”

“Chelle, honey,” Denny rubbed my shoulder as I refilled my glass again.  “This is not all your fault.”

“Yeah, it is, Den,” I slurred, draining half of the renewed volume in a drought.  “It is.  I never should have let it start.  And I knew it.  Standing on those steps in New York City, I knew it.  But I did it anyway.  Because he’s handsome.  And he’s sexy.  And he’s sweet and he’s kind and he’s generous and he’s funny, and he’s so fucking smart.”  My tears had started again.  “And _I wanted_ it.  I wanted _him_.  He touches me, and I don’t care that he’s bossy as fuck, and I don’t care that he’s telling me what to do because he’s telling me to do what I _want_ to do.  He makes it okay for me to do what I want to do, and he makes it okay that I like it, makes it okay that I like the way it feels, and he makes it feel so good…”

By this time, Dennis was shifting a bit uncomfortably in his seat, and I snarled defensively as he tried to take my glass from my hand.

“Den,” Russ shook his head.  “Let her be.  She’s not going anywhere.”

“Yeah, Denny,” I grimaced, filling my glass once more.  “I’m. Not. Going, Any. Where.” 

The two lovers exchanged a silent congress as I drank deeply once more, and then Dennis was rising, leaving the room.  I heard a door close a moment later, and noticed Russ looking at me in a curiously knowing fashion.  It sobered me up faster than a bucket of ice cold water.

“How far did it go?”  He asked after long moments of silence. 

I bowed my head.  “Far enough.”

“Marks?”

I swallowed hard, tears falling in my wine.  “Fading.  Gone in a day or two.”  I set the glass on the table and buried my head in my hands.  “Oh, God, Russ…”

He pulled me against him and I sobbed into his shoulder as he rubbed my back.  “It’s okay, Chelle.  It’s okay.  I understand.”

“How?” I wailed softly.  “How can you understand it?”

“Chelle,” he took my face in his hands.  “How can you not understand it?”  He brushed my hair back from my face.  “You spend your entire life thinking you’ve got to be the one in control.  You know better than most how quick and how brutally life can go to shit.  So you plan and prepare and you plan and prepare and you plan some more.  You hold the reins, you make the choice.  And you keep yourself numb so you don’t have to feel.  And Tom?  He spends his whole life with somebody else calling the shots.  He’s told where to go, when to go, how long to stay, what to wear, what to say, how to act.  The only power he has is in what he can make people feel.  You need to be taken in hand.  He needs somebody to take.”  His eyes were clear, no judgment.  “You fit.”

I snuffled softly for a moment before descending to his embrace once more.  “God, Russ,” I swiped at my eyes.  “What the fuck am I going to do?”

We lingered on the sofa awhile longer, until my jaw split in a yawn almost painful.  After closing myself in the guest room, I hauled my laptop out, thinking a purge might help me sleep.  I’d left the new computer Tom had bought me on the desk in his den, and being reminded of that froze my fingers over the keyboard, staring at a blank page on the screen.  I opened a browser, thinking I’d gauge the editorial waters, since my once promising book deal now seemed on permanent hold.

 My masochistic nature drew me to the Telegraph news feed.  Tom had always been fiercely private with regards to his personal life, our personal life; only a few minor tags here there even hinted that we were together.  So I didn't expect to see any items about our separation splash across the pages.  Turns out, I found a couple after all.

_“The West End was rocked last night by Josie Rourke and company with their powerhouse finale performance of Shakespeare’s once obscure **Coriolanus**.  Lauded as a force to be reckoned with on the London theater scene, Rourke has garnered a reputation as woman who can definitely make more from less, favoring smaller theaters, like her darling Donmar, small casts, and sparse sets and costuming.  Many critics believed Rourke to be padding her hand on this particular production, casting “Avengers” villain and internet heartthrob Tom Hiddleston in the title role.  Hiddleston’s draw led to record ticket sales and sell-out times, and it didn’t stop there; his able-bodied portrayal of the intriguingly contemptible Roman general garnering him rave reviews and even an Olivier nomination._

_But it was this final prowl across the tiny stage that really put the thirty-three year old actor’s mettle on display.  His rage was palpable from the floor to the rafters, seething from his clenched jaw and dripping from his sweat and blood soaked brow.  Absolutely oozing the air of a man misunderstood, Hiddleston owned his supporting cast as well as his audience, letting every breathing thing in the Donmar feel the wrath that positively vibrated through him._

_That would have been impressive enough.  But in his final moments on stage, in a once obscure role now destined to be clawed over and coveted by any RADA grad amped to strut his stuff, Hiddleston showed what it means to be a true artist.  Anger melted into sadness, loss, and bitter resigned regret as the once invincible warrior stared down the loss of his love, the decimation of his family and ultimately, his own demise.  In those moments, he **was** the lost and lonely Caius; that was his pain, those were his tears.  And we all shed our own, right along with him.  A beautiful farewell to a remarkable page in London theater history; when the siren of the stage hearkens him back, this reporter certainly hopes he heeds the call.”_

I was weeping silently by the time I read the last line, and more than ready to slam the computer shut and hurl myself into bed.  But the _Related Items_ link caught my eye as well. 

I clicked through to a young fan’s blog.  The screen filled with a full color picture of Tom, his arm draped casually around the blogger’s shoulder:

“ _Met **this guy** today, guess that means I can die now!  Standing in line at airport security, like he’s not Tom Fucking Hiddleston.  I mean, seriously, would the God of Mischief queue up at the metal detector??  Anyway, super nice, super friendly, signed my iPad and posed for a selfie.  This selfie. Duh!  I was dying to know where he’s headed, but he just smiled and said, ‘Vacation, love’ (yes, he ACTUALLY called me ‘love’).  It’s a good thing – Hiddles seemed really exhausted and a little sad.  I didn’t want to stalk (okay I TOTALLY DID want to, but I was scared I’d freak him out), so I went to my own gate to wait and NOT act like we totally needed to be lifelong friends and maybe get married one day.  Saw him walk by awhile later, into the atrium lounge, and snapped this one from my seat.”_

This second photo drove the knife home, twisted its jagged teeth in my heart.  He was slumped in his chair, staring blankly at the half empty bottle of orange juice in front of him.  His earbuds hung listless around his neck, his phone was shoved facedown across the table.  He was pale, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his longer- than- normal stubble was wild and ungroomed.

I clawed my phone from my pocket, and willed myself to dial.  Again. 

I failed.

Again.


	22. Chapter 22

And so, I existed. 

I settled into an awkwardly successful living arrangement with Russell and Denny, an odd, twenty-first century three’s company.  I stayed out of the way; they kept the silence at bay.  I slept.  Sort of.  I ate every now and again.  After the first week, I stopped checking my phone every hour on the hour.  After the second, I smashed the fucking thing to smithereens before purchasing a new one.  I took odd editing jobs, taught a technical writing class here and there, dipped into my trust fund to keep my condo, even though I had no idea how I would ever go back to it.  Grace gently reminded me that Doubleday was willing to wait. 

I not-so-gently told her to fuck off. 

On my fourth day back stateside, I explained to my father that Tom and I had parted ways.  He was compassionately understanding, let me sob into the phone, paternally reminding me that I was his baby girl and that the right man was out there for me somewhere. 

On the sixth day, he asked how Tom and I liked living together.  Second verse, same as the first.

I floated through the days in a smoggy, gray-brown haze.  I stayed offline as much as I could, but every once in a while, when the dreams were too dark and the bed too empty and the night sweats soaked my sleep shirt to my body, I would open my laptop for some self-flagellation.  Filming was in full swing in Toronto, and it seemed every day there were new pictures, new stories, new fan encounters.  Most just scoured my heart.  The little girl hurling herself at his legs eviscerated it.   

Twenty-one days apart, and my subconscious took over my punishment.  He came to me in my dreams, tall, regal, commanding.  Holding me down, trussing me up, cutting and tearing my clothes away until I was bare before him.  Hands and fingers and lips and tongue and cock; teasing, taunting, seducing but never satisfying.  My eyes would leak, my pussy would weep, my voice would beg: “ _Please… Tom… please let me come… please… I need it so badly…I need **you**  so badly”_ His teeth on my neck, my back, my hips, my thighs, but never an answer, and I would jerk awake, soaked in perspiration, sensation coiled tightly at my core.  I started to think there was no worse way to wake up, teetering on the brink of an orgasm that simply refused to unfurl.

As usual, I was wrong.

I still wasn’t used to the ring of my new cellular.  I  _really_  wasn’t used to blinking my eyes open to the tone at three in the morning.  For a split second, my heart leapt in my chest –  _he’s calling, he’s finally calling_.  But my elation was short lived when I remembered it couldn’t be Tom; it’s not like I’d called or texted him my new number.

“Chelle, honey,”   It was Danny. Quiet. Broken.

 “Your daddy’s had a stroke…”

*          *          *          *          *          *         

Hospitals can be eerie places at night.

The smell of chlorhexadine and bleach, the whir and whisper of ventilators and CPAP machines, the occasional beep of an IV pump or cardiac monitor.  My father, comatose, intubated, sedated, in the middle of it. The EEG and PET scans were “encouraging”.  The pin in his shoulder made an MRI impossible.  His heart looked fine, but his kidneys took a hit.  The dialysis machine had a hypnotically soothing rhythm.  Neurologic status?  “We’ll just have to wait and see, Ms. O’Shea.”

Jeanine and Shane and Susan called an old friend of mine at the Trib.  A prayer request was published in the paper.  It made them feel better.

The plastic sofa set into the wall was at least more comfortable than sleeping on the floor.  Denny smuggled in his own creations so I wouldn’t starve avoiding the cafeteria food.  He introduced himself to my father, promised to sneak him in some goods too, if he would just wake up and tell him what he wanted.

Two days.  The nurses came and went, the soft swish of their scrubs and the squeak of their shoes often the only announcement of their presence.  Nurses are smart.  They know better than doctors that, if you don’t know what to say, it’s best to keep your fucking mouth shut.

I was sitting on my makeshift bed, my back against the wall, an open book slack in one hand.  I thought I was hallucinating at first, that stress and lack of proper sleep had finally gotten the better of me.  And then, the creak of leather, the scent of cedarwood, and I knew he was real.  Filling the doorway like an answered prayer.

 “Tom?”

His gaze was fixed on my father, the corners of his mouth turned down.  “Chelle.”

My stomach lurched, and not just from the coldness in his voice.  He had never addressed me by that nickname.  Never.  I shoved the book aside and staggered to my feet, tucking my hair nervously behind my ears.  “I…” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat.  “It’s so good to see you.”  He didn’t move, didn’t speak.  “I… uh… I hope this hasn’t caused any problems with your filming schedule.  But I really appreciate your coming…”

“Would you mind leaving, please?”  His tone was taut, just this side of a snarl, and as far as I could tell, he still hadn’t laid eyes on me.  “I didn’t come here to see you.”

His words hit me like a wrecking ball.  Tears sprang to my eyes, and suddenly, the air in the room was too thick, too heavy.  He stepped through the doorway enough for me to pass, and I scuttled timidly into the hallway.  I was shaking visibly from head to toe when I took a seat on the bench a couple of doors down from my father’s room.  I accepted the offer of water from the volunteer who noticed my nerves, then shooed her away as politely as I could.  My mind was racing, chaos, disorganization.  But for the first time in weeks, a tiny glimmer of hope began to peek through the wasted clouds that hung around my head.  The clock at the nurse’s station ticked off a full thirty minutes, and I was just rising to my feet when he emerged.  I straightened my back and squared my shoulders, only to gape in broken dismay as he breezed past me.

“Tom?”  I stumbled down the hallway after him.  “Jesus, Tom, come on!  You can’t just leave a film set in the middle of production and fly hundreds of miles and not at least talk to me…”

He whirled on me so fast I nearly collided with him.  “Not. Here.”  He hissed, his eyes icy venom.

“Well, slow the fuck down,” I snapped.  “And we can go talk wherever you want.”

He glared at me, gritting his teeth.  “Fucking unbelievable, you are.”  He resumed his stride, forcing me to jog to keep up.

I managed to keep my tongue in my head until we were outside the hospital.  “Tom?”  He ignored me, taking a right down the sidewalk and heading for the parking garage.  “Tom!”  No response again, and I burst into a run, cutting him off and grabbing his hands.  “Stop!”

He yanked away from me so violently I nearly fell to my knees.  “Don’t fucking touch me!”

Any interest I might have had in conducting a civilized conversation evaporated under the fiery wrath of his stare. “Listen here, asshole,” I screamed.  “You don’t get to pull this shit! You show up here, at my sick father’s bedside, in the middle of the night, and you don’t have two words to say to me?”

“Actually,” he seethed.  “I don’t.”

The last fine thread of control I had snapped, and I hurled myself at him, pummeling his chest with my fists.  “Fuck you, Tom,” I screamed.  “Fuck you… nobody asked you to come here…”

“That’s right!” He roared, grabbing me by my elbows and dragging me to the outside of the stairwell, slamming me back against the brick wall.  “Nobody asked me!  Nobody even fucking called me!  You certainly didn’t, you selfish little brat!  I had to find out from a fan, Michelle, a bloody fucking  _fan_!”  He released me and stepped back, tears of rage falling from his eyes. ”How could you do that?  How could you not fucking call me?”

All at once it hit me, how right he was.  I had been selfish.  And cruel.  Of all the countless things that Tom had done right, his relationship with my father was among the finest.  All the effort he’d expended, the understanding he’d demonstrated, the affection he’d given; I hadn’t realized that it could all exist independent of me.  I began to tremble with shame, my own tears starting to flow as I reached for him.

 “No, fuck off,” he sneered, slapping my hands away before swiping angrily at his cheeks.

“Tom…”

“No, Michelle,” he shouted.  “Fuck off.”  He spun on his heel and began to stalk away.

The words bubbled up, the only words I could think of to say.  The only words left to say. Words that I knew I had to say, at this moment, my last chance, even though it was already far too late.

“I want to marry you.”

I didn’t think he’d hear me; even if he did, I didn’t think he care.  So I blanched in surprise when he froze mid-step.  “What?”  He spoke without turning, his voice flat and unbelieving.

I squared my shoulders and wiped my nose with my sleeve.  “I want to marry you.”

He was shaking his head as he spun, so slowly.  “Oh, no.”  His eyes were hooded, his tone was low, and I cowered into myself as he slunk back towards me.  “No.  You don’t get to do this now.”

“I want to marry you.”  I couldn’t look at his face, so I fixed my gaze on the hollow of his throat.  I could see his pulse pounding above his clavicle, his Adam’s apple rising and falling.

“You don’t get to walk out on me, leave me for weeks, only to think your father’s failing health is going to give you the chance to press some kind of karmic reset button…” 

“I want to marry you.”

His hands grabbed my shoulders and he pressed me into the wall once more.  “Stop. Saying. That.”

I drew in a deep breath, exhaled slowly.  I lifted my eyes to his, facing all the pain and rage and disappointment.  The kaleidoscope of agony I had painted with my own hand. 

“I made a mistake, Tom.  The biggest mistake of my life.  I never should have hesitated.  I never should have hurt you the way I did.  I never should have left you.  I don’t deserve you.  But I miss you.  I love you.  And I know I missed my chance, but I want to marry you.  I know I won’t get to, but I wanted you to know.  I do want to marry you.”

His eyes had swirled so dark blue they were nearly black.  His jaw was trembling, and his throat rocked with angry effort.  “God damn you,” he growled.  “God fucking damn you.”

And then he kissed me.

It wasn’t the soft and tender kiss that movie reunions paint, all pastels and frosted lighting and swells of violins.  It wasn’t the hungry, desperate kiss of passion too long denied and nearly lost.  This kiss was power, possession, control.  He pried my mouth open with his, invading me roughly, his fingers plunging into my hair and gripping the roots at my scalp.  He bit at my lips and tongue, daring me to pull away, and when I didn’t, his teeth crashed against me and I tasted a hint of the bright copper of my own blood.  I moaned into his mouth and he yanked away, his gaze an inferno making his pale skin blaze from within.  “Tell me,” he seethed.

“I’m yours, Tom,” I sobbed in the ruins of my sorrow, my voice rising on air of pure relief.  “I’m yours.”

His grip in my hair tightened, stretching my neck, his smile as beautiful and commanding as it had ever been.  “Don’t you ever fucking forget that again.”  With that, he descended, and my own smile returned as his lips sealed over that spot, his spot. Licking, sucking, biting, as my arms wound around him, my hands clawing at his back.  He pulled his head back to admire the purpling mark he’d gifted me with, and then his hand grabbed my elbow.  He dragged me around the corner, throwing open the door to the stairwell and shoving me inside.  I stumbled back against the concrete steps and he was upon me, unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans, dragging them and my panties down to my knees together.

“Turn around,” he rasped as he fumbled his belt, his hands shaking.  “Grab the hand rail.  And don’t fucking let go.”

I couldn’t obey him fast enough.  Somewhere in the furthest recesses of my mind, the dowager nagged that we could get caught, that anyone could walk past at any moment. I didn’t care.  I just wanted,  _needed_  him to claim me, to own me, to renew the connection, once and for all.

I barely had time to think before he was behind me, his hand stroking the head of his cock against my folds.  “My little minx,” he purred, delectable satisfaction in his voice.  “Can you feel how wet you are?”

I nodded breathlessly.  “Yes…”

I was prepared for him to taunt and tease me, so it was a rapturous shock when he abandoned all restraint and thrust, sheathing himself balls deep in one brutal, fluid motion.  I was so surprised I didn’t even have time to scream, the air coughing out of my lungs in a harsh bark.  He lay himself over my back, wrapping his arms around me and trapping my arms at my sides.  I whimpered in wanton delight, canting back towards him in silent entreaty.  “Fucking Christ, I’ve missed you,” his words were moist heat in my ear as he began to rock, grinding against my cervix until the biting twinges had me crying out.  “Your tight, wet little cunt… Jesus, Michelle… “

“I love you, Tom,” I gasped, gripping the steel rail in my hands until my knuckles throbbed in protest. “I love you so much…  I’m so sorry… I’m so fucking sorry…”  My tears began to fall, and he pressed his cheek to mine.

“Hush, love.” He chided gently.  “Later for that.  Just tell me, Michelle.  Tell me.”

“I’m yours, Tom, I’m yours.  I’ll never, ever forget again, I promise.  I’m yours…”

He let me babble on for a moment, his hips thrusting and clenching as he slid forward, pulled back, slid forward, pulled back.   His hand edged down my stomach and my tears flowed faster at the promise of impending release.  I went slack in his embrace as his fingers found my clit, rubbing it lightly, gently, stark contrast to the brutal force of his cock inside me.  My body twisted of its own accord, and his chuckle danced through the center of my brain.  “Does my sweet little minx need to come?”

“Oh God, yes,” I cried out helplessly.  “Please, Tom… please…”

His other hand slid over my mouth.  “Shhh, sweetheart, we don’t want to alarm anyone who might be close by…”  The angle of his thrusts shifted, delivering blow after punishing blow directly to my g-spot.  I cried out again, powerless to stop, thankful for the muzzle of his hand.  His fingers worked faster between my legs, rubbing, twisting, tugging, and he was grunting in my ear, still in control but only barely.  “Fuck,” he growled, “just a bit more… just there… oh, fuck, Michelle, now!  Come for me now!’

My eyes rolled back in my skull as my body obeyed, the fuse that had burned long and slow for weeks finally reaching the source.  The resulting explosion obliterated the last of the lingering clouds in bursts of white hot light that splintered and shattered behind my lids, burning me to ash from which his hands drew me back anew.  I felt his teeth sink into my shoulder as he erupted inside me and I floated, warm and safe above the convulsions that wrung us out and left us draped, limp and shaking, over the handrail of the stairs.  He withdrew with a sob, turning me, his tears falling on my cheeks even as his release dripped down my thighs.  “I love you, Michelle, I love you.”

“I love you, Tom.  I’m yours, and I love you.”


	23. Chapter 23

Our strength returned and we parted, pulling up our jeans and combing back our sweat dampened hair with our fingers.  Once our clothes were straight, Tom reached for my hand.  Trembling, I braided my fingers though his; when he used the grip to pull me close to him once more, I thought I might die where I stood, that my heart would fill too full and burst inside the cage of my chest.  He wound his arms around me slowly, still holding my hand, pinning it against the small of my back.  I tilted my face up to his, losing myself in the now calm, cool blue ocean of his eyes.  He danced his open mouth over mine, teasing me with the warmth of his breath.  “Tell me,” he whispered softly.

“I’m yours,” I whispered back.

I have no idea how long we stood there, swaying a bit in the embrace, our mouths flirting against one another, torturous hints of kisses that never fully blossomed.  Suddenly, a loud metallic screech echoed from above us, followed by the heavy closing of a door and footfalls shuffling down the stairs.  Tom edged us out of the way as the other couple passed, offering the small, tight smiles strangers often share as courtesy, but he never let me go, keeping me pressed to his chest.  Still, the interruption was enough to bring me back to reality somewhat, and I pulled back a bit.  “Where are you staying?”

He offered a wry little grin.  “I didn’t make arrangements.  I just booked a flight.”  He nuzzled my cheek.  “You?”

“In theory,” I sighed, “at my parent’s house.  In practice, though…” I trailed off, gesturing back towards the hospital.

He chuckled sadly.  “No wonder you look like shit.”

I chuffed at him, but I couldn’t help but giggle just a bit.  “Thanks a lot.”

“Seriously, Michelle,” he smoothed my hair back from my forehead, concern etched in the corners of his eyes, the moue of his mouth.  “You look bloody awful.”

I blinked back tears, untangling my hand from his behind my back so that I could smooth my palm along his jaw.  “It’s been a shit month.”

After that, Tom took the lead, ushering me back to my father’s room so that I could collect my purse and phone and say a proper goodnight. I wiped away the excess moisture that had collected around my father’s breathing tube, smoothed his snowy white hair, kissed his scruffy cheek.  “I love you, daddy,” I whispered in his ear.  I rose to see Tom bending close to his other side, squeezing his limp fingers. 

“I’m going to take her home, Jack,” he murmured softly.  “But we’ll both be back in a few hours.”

I dozed in the passenger seat of the rental car as Tom drove us through the early morning dark.  I woke to his gentle hands unbuckling my seatbelt as he knelt by the open passenger door.  He took me gently by my knees, turning me in my seat.  He wound my arms around his neck, and as we rose together, he lifted me off the ground, guiding my legs around his waist.  I buried my face in his neck as he carried me up the drive to the house; I couldn’t remember ever feeling so safe.  He’d already found my keys and let himself in, already dropped his bag in my bedroom, already started the water running in the tub.  He set me on my feet in the bathroom and began to undress me with slow, careful deliberation.  There was nothing sexual in the act; he was flaccid when he slid into the water behind me.  Using a soft cloth and his warm, strong hands, he stroked and cleansed and washed away all the dark and hopelessness and pain and anguish that had clung to my skin like a mildewy film.  He rubbed my shoulders, my neck, massaged my scalp as he washed my hair.

So much love in so simple an act.  I shifted in the tub, turning my body in his embrace, lying down against his chest.  He smiled at me, kissed the tip of my nose.  I slipped my arms around his waist, holding him tightly, my teeth worrying my bottom lip.  “I’m so sorry, Tom.”

“I know you are, sweet.”  His gaze held mine, open, honest.  “I forgive you.”

My heart swelled a bit.  “Are you sure? I mean…”  I groped for words. “You’re sure you can love me again?”

He blanched, pulling me closer to him.  “God, you daft little idiot,” he chided.  “You hurt me, Michelle, you made me angry; angrier than I’ve ever been with anybody ever before.  But that doesn’t mean I stopped loving you.  I never stopped loving you… Jesus, that was half the bloody problem.”

“But I fucked everything up…”

“Yes,” he said honestly.  “You did.  We were well on our way to an amazing happily ever after, and you let your stupid, short-sighted fears get in the way.”  He shifted a bit beneath me, sitting straighter against the wall.  “I wasn’t going to do this now.  And if you need me to stop, well, I’m sure you remember your word.”  His eyes flashed brief lusty fire at the implication, but he was back to business before I could blink.  “The truth is, Michelle, as wonderful as you are, and you are amazingly, unbelievably wonderful, you’re a bit to handle from time to time, and you can actually be quite selfish.  You want plans for today, tomorrow, next week, ten years from now.  You would think that one so adept at making plans would be a master at handling change.  But you’re not.  Change scares the hell out of you, even when it’s good.  Fuck, especially when it’s good.  You get scared, and you run.”  He traced the side of one finger along the line of my jaw.  “You got scared, and you ran.”

The words were tumbling from my mouth before I could stop them.  “Why didn’t you run after me?”

“Because you broke my fucking heart!”  I moved to pull away, but his arms shot around me, grabbing me in a vise-like grip.  “Michelle, I know I’m not perfect, but I think you have to admit that, with you, I’ve come pretty fucking close.  I deserved better than that!  I deserved your trust… God knows  I’ve earned it!”

“I know,” I sobbed.

“Now you know.  _Now_.”  His voice was dark but not unkind.  “The truth, darling, is that not one single hour went by that I didn’t want to run out the door, hop a plane, and drag you back, even if you kicked and screamed and fought the entire way.  But that would have put us right back where we were, put me right back where I was.  And the next time I would want to try taking that next step with you, you’d have no incentive to step up with me, no reference point to show you what we stood to lose.  Michelle,” his face was naked, boyish, vulnerable.  “I needed you to chase me a little.”

I nodded in understanding, my tears splashing into the water.  “I should have,” I admitted.  “I wanted to… But I didn’t think you’d let me back in.”  I bowed my head, bitterly ashamed.  “I wouldn’t have.”

“Yes, you would have,” his finger under my chin lifted my eyes back to his.  “If you love me the way I love you, you would have.” 

There were so many other things I’d wanted to know, where he’d gone when he left, what he’d done when he realized I’d run, how he’d learned of my father’s condition.  But once those words left his mouth, all my questions ebbed away, and all I could think about was how horribly I’d missed him.  All I could feel was the aching want for him deep inside my body.  “Tom,” I whispered, afraid that noise would shatter the perfection of my longing.  “Can we please go to bed?”

His smile was the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm.  He nodded, and I scooted to the other side of the tub, pulling the plug as he stood.  He helped me to my feet before stepping out and swathing a towel around his hips.  He wrapped me in one as well, then lifted me into his arms, carrying me bridal style into the bedroom as I stroked his hair and kissed his neck.  Sitting me on the edge of the bed, he took the comb from my vanity and set to untangling my hair.  Once it flowed damp and smooth down my back, he leaned down, brushing his lips over mine.  “Better?”

I nodded, smiling gratefully into his eyes.  “Tom?”

“Yes, love?”

“I’m so, so sorry.”

His smile was warm, genuine.  “I know you are, sweetheart.  And I meant what I said: I forgive you.”  He leaned down to kiss me but I was pushing myself to my feet, turning our bodies so his knees were flush with the mattress.  I tugged at his towel and let it fall to the floor, where it was joined a heartbeat later by my own.  I lay my palm on his chest and pushed gently; he sat down on the bed, then scooted back towards the pillows as I crawled over him.  I danced my lips over his forehead as he lay back, his eyelashes tickled my lips.  “Michelle,” he sighed softly, his hands reaching for me, catching me gently around my neck.  I waited to see if he would guide; when he didn’t, I resumed my exploration, leaving no inch of his face unkissed.  His tongue flowed into my mouth like sweet wine, and I suckled it, scraped my teeth lightly over it, coaxed it to dance with my own.  He moaned suddenly and arched a bit beneath me, and I pulled back.  His grin was hazy with arousal.  “You’re dripping all over me, love.”

I glanced down to confirm that, indeed, my over-eager body was, in fact, flooding to welcome him.  I giggled softly, a bit self-conscious.  “Sorry…”

His grip on my neck tightened ever so slightly.  “Stop saying you’re sorry,” he urged.  “Show me how much you’ve missed me.”

Whimpering softly, I kissed him once more, deep and slow, until my heart hammered in my chest and my toes curled against the bedclothes.  I moved above him, straddling his hips, gently resting my parted lips against his shaft.  I moved my body in a languid, sensual roll, smoothing my fluids over and around him until his cock was slick and shiny and vibrating beneath me.  His stare was fixed on that spot between my legs, where my body ended and his began, his face pure erotic bliss.  “So fucking beautiful,” he crooned, sending a shiver through my core.  I rocked again, and again, until his hands gripped my thighs hard enough for his fingers to dimple my flesh.  “Let me in, love,” he commanded tenderly.  “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

It only took a shift of my legs, a brief lifting of my hips, and I took him deep, his head pressing back into the pillow, the cords and veins of his neck standing out in stark relief beneath his skin.  “Jesus, you’re so fucking tight…”

He was right; the endless long nights without him had left me all but atrophied, and the stretch and burn of his homecoming rivaled that of our first time together.  I rose up slowly, only to slide down once again, relishing the drag of his flesh against mine, grinding a bit when my pelvic bone came to rest against his.  “Glorious,” he grunted through gritted teeth.  “Show me…”

Closing my eyes, I combed my fingers through my hair as I stretched my torso, making it as long and tall as my frame would allow.  I spread my fingers as my touch slid down my skull, behind my ears, around my neck to my throat and lower.  My breasts swelled hungrily, and his breath hitched ever so slightly as I cupped them, squeezed their full softness, rolled the hardened peaks between my fingertips until the pink flesh blushed crimson.  He pushed himself up on his elbows and I bent forward, brushing a nipple against his lips.  He teased me with the moist heat of his breath, a quick glance of his tongue.  I pouted prettily, pulling back, but his arms encircled me and crushed me close, his face pressed into the valley of my cleavage.  “Mine,” he whispered playfully, nipping at one sideswell until I squirmed. 

“Yours,” I nodded, running my fingers through his hair. 

With a satisfied grin, he latched onto my left breast, his tongue laving the nipple as his lips drew, deep, hard, until I cried out at the responding tug from deep inside my belly.  “Don’t think I can’t feel that,” he smirked.  “The way you clench when I suck you just right.”  He suckled again, eliciting the same response.  “Could I make you come like this, do you think?”  He asked, mischief in his eyes.  “No rocking, no thrusting, just my cock deep inside you and my mouth on these gorgeous breasts, these hard little nipples?”

“Yes,” I rasped breathlessly.

He laughed warmly.  “But that’s not what you want right now, is it?”  His hands slid down my buttocks to grip me firmly as his hips pushed up against me in one tiny little thrust, making me squeal ever so slightly. “No.  That’s not what you want.  And as much as you might be enjoying this little bout of exhibitionism, _that’_ s not what you want right now, either.”

“Tom…”

“Shhh, Michelle,” he shushed me, catching my bottom lip between his teeth.  “I told you: I fucking know you.  All sweetness and apologies and wanting to atone.  I know you’ll do whatever you think you need to do to please me right, to give me what I want.  You’ll play the whore, give me a show and believe me, I’m more than a little tempted to let you, shall we say,” he put his mouth close to my ear.  “Ride it out.  But I know you, and I know that right now,” he thrust up again.  “What you truly want,” and again.  “Is to be flat on your back.”  Thrust.  “Pinned beneath me.”  Thrust.  “My hands holding you down.”  Thrust.  “My cock driving into you.” Thrust.  “Hard and fast.”  Thrust.  “Making you moan my name.” Thrust.  “Making you _scream_ it…”

By this time, I was visibly trembling above him, overwhelmed by how quickly the balance of control had shifted.  Gratified by it. _Excited_ by it.  “Tom,” I whined desperately, “I do want to give you what you want…”

He seized my wrists, and in one fluid motion, flipped us both, landing our bodies exactly as he’d described, his hands and hips pinning me helpless beneath him.  “What I want, “he purred, licking a stripe of wet heat over my clavicle “is to take the woman I fell in love with in the way she wants me to.”  He slammed into me, hard.  “The way she loves me to.”  He withdrew to just his crown, then plunged in again.  “The way she needs me to.” Again.  Brutal, passionate, loving, redeeming.  “Tell me, Michelle…”

The pleasure of the act was overwhelming me, stealing the breath from my lungs and the reason from my brain, burning away the games and the pretenses and the distractions, distilling me to pure, simple desire.  Desire he longed to sate, like no one else ever would.  Like no one else ever could.  He was the piece that fit inside of me, made me whole.  The piece that terrified me and challenged me, even as it comforted me, protected me.  He was right, he knew me.  Better than anyone ever had, better than I knew myself.  “I’m yours, Tom.”

A breathy chuckle escaped his broad grin.  “Tell me again.”

“I’m yours, Tom,” I cried, bowing my back, spreading my legs, offering him everything I’d ever been, everything I ever would be.  “I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours…”

His lips pulled back from his teeth in a beautiful snarl and he charged, the relentless pounding of his body driving us both into the abyss together in a tangle of arms and legs and perspiration and promise, breaking apart what had been, leaving in his wake the pieces to build anew.

The sun was coming up when our racing hearts had finally slowed and our breathing had steadied.  Tom had moved to roll off of me at least twice, only to have my desperately clutching hands pull him back down.  He’d finally settled for strategically stacking the pillows around us so I could have the weight and contact I craved while he could relax comfortably without worrying about crushing me.  The result was a delightfully warm and sensual little nest I never wanted to leave.  Sleep should have come easily, but I couldn’t close my eyes, torn between the fear that he would vanish like a dream and the simple desire to drink in his beautiful features.  I didn’t mind.

Tom, however, did.  “Michelle,” he grumbled, his lids wearily closed.  “I can’t sleep with you staring at me like that.”

I blanched, biting back a grin.  “I’m not staring.”

“Like hell,” he sniffed.  “I can _feel_ you staring.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” I pouted, tangling my fingers through the dusting of hair on his chest.  “I can’t help it.  You’re just so bloody handsome.”

He laughed at my choice of words, then tugged gently on my still damp hair.  “Try.  We need to sleep.  I’m fucking exhausted… you’re fucking exhausted.”  His fingers danced over my face, rolling my eyelids shut.  “Sleep.”

Furrowing my brow, I lay in silence for a bit before opening my eyes once more, careful not to move or make a sound.  A moment later, he exhaled loudly in exasperation.  “What?”

“You’re doing it again,” he opened his own eyes, and I sulked guiltily.  “Aw, love,” he kissed the tip of my nose.  “What do you need?  Why can’t you close your eyes?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted morosely.  “I guess… it’s just,” I sighed.  “Sleep has not been kind to me lately.”

His gaze softened.  “Bad dreams?”  I nodded, and he tucked me under his chin.  “It’s okay now, sweet,” he kissed the top of my head.  “Nightmare’s over.”

“I know,” I gloomed, still uncertain.

With a deep breath, he rose up on one arm.  “If I give you something to help you sleep, will you take it?”  I waggled my eyebrows, sliding my hand down his abdomen, and he laughed heartily.  “I already gave you that, love, and here you are, still wide-eyed and annoying as fuck.”

“I’m not annoying as fuck…”

“You are,” he kissed me sweetly.  “Annoying as fuck.  Now answer my question.  If I give you something to help you sleep, will you take it?”  Huffing through my nose, I nodded.  He stretched his arm to snag the handle of his suitcase, dragging it closer to dig into the front pocket. I expected him to pull out his iPod and queue up the soft music or white noise he used when he needed to relax, maybe a bottle of sleeping pills, if the weeks apart had ravaged his circadian rhythms the way they had mine. 

I was not expecting the small lacquered box I’d left abandoned on our bedroom floor.

He hovered above me as he opened it, turning the velvet interior towards me.  The ring sparkled in the morning light, the promise of the possibility of perfection.  His face above it, naked, open, vulnerable.  His heart on his sleeve, his eyes begging me silently not to break it again.  “Will this make you feel a little bit better?”

I didn’t hesitate, only extended my trembling left hand.  “Tom… this might actually save my life.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: TRIGGER WARNING FOR CHARACTER DEATH.

As usual, Tom was right.  Once he had slipped the ring on my finger and kissed me so warmly I thought I might melt into the bed, my eyelids grew impossibly heavy.  Curling against one another, we fell deeply asleep, barely stirring until my phone rang, just after six o’clock that evening.  Barely aware, I ignored it, snuggling closer to Tom’s chest and drawing the comforter up over our heads.  There was brief silence, and then the ringing began again.  Groaning, Tom reached for it, squishing me beneath him.  I hummed a small giggle as he squinted at the cellular.  “What the hell is this thing?” He scrunched.  “This isn’t your phone…”

I rolled my eyes sheepishly.  “Long story.”  I showed him how to activate the line, then pulled him back down to the bed, nibbling a little at the corner of his jaw. 

“Hello?” He said through a yawn.  I could hear the voice from the other end of the phone, and suddenly, Tom was wide awake.  “Yes… yes, hold just a second, please.”  He held the device out to me.  “It’s the hospital.”

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry.  I took the phone from him, trying to ignore the anxiety in his eyes as he watched my face.  “H-hello?”

“Hello,” a man’s voice, clipped but not unfriendly.  “Is this Michelle?  Michelle O’Shea?”

“It is.”

“Miss O’Shea, my name is Joshua Collier.  I’m a physician on staff here at Duke Raleigh ICU… I’m calling to inform you that your father Jack is awake and responsive, and we’re going to go ahead and pull his breathing tube here in just a few minutes.   I expect he’ll be a touch groggy and out of sorts for a bit, but if you’d like to see him, I think any time after seven-thirty would be just fine.”

“Oh, my God!”  I sat bolt upright, scaring the hell out of Tom until he saw the smile that split my face wide.  “Oh, my God… yes!  Yes. Seven-thirty.  We’ll be there…” I looked to him for confirmation and laughed out loud at how quickly and emphatically he nodded his head.  “Listen, I know you’re a doctor and I know you know all his medical stuff, but my dad… the Alzheimer’s…”

“I know you’re concerned about your father’s mental state, Miss O’Shea, and your concerns are very valid.  The attending neuropsychologist will be at the bedside when we extubate to explain what has happened and to assess your father’s neuro status, and will be a part of your father’s care team right up through discharge.”  I sighed in relief as Tom climbed from the bed, gesturing his intent to shower as I nodded and mouthed a silent “I love you”.

After hanging up with Dr. Collier, I phoned Jeanine and Danny, Bill and Susan.  Russell’s number went straight to voicemail, so I rattled off a text that could only be described as word salad:

_“Dad awake in ICU.  Docs pulling the breathing tube now._

_Tom in the shower.  Ring on my finger._

_CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THIS!!!”_

“So… what did he say?”  

 

“Um…” I was distracted, still tapping at my phone.  “He’s awake.  They’re getting him off the ventilator and they want a little time for him to adjust before he sees anybody.  They have a shrink on the care team and they…”  The words died on my lips as I finally looked up.

 

He filled the doorway like a dark Adonis, rubbing a towel briskly over his newly black hair.  Shaved clean, his jaw looked sharp enough to cut glass.  Drops of water still clung to his skin, his muscular torso bare above the towel cinched low over his hips.  “Jesus Christ, “ I groaned.  “Seriously?”

 

He glanced down at his body in confusion.  “What?”

 

“I have to get up, Tom, I have to go.  I have to go… I have to get ready to go, and you look like that.”  Catching my frustration, he laughed, tossing aside the towel in his hand and crawling across the bed like a panther stalking prey.  “It’s not funny,” I pouted, trying to ignore him as he moved his face into the angle between my neck and shoulder.

 

“It’s not,” he tutted firmly, nibbling beneath my ear.

 

“It’s not, Tom,” I tried to lean away but he followed along.

 

“I agree with you,” he insisted, his lips groping softly at my skin.  “Not funny at all.”

 

“You’re being a jerk,” I sighed, shivering beneath his warm breath.

 

“An absolute ass,” he confirmed before biting down, and starting to suck.  _Dear God…_

 

“Tom,” I objected weakly.  “I can’t visit my father in the ICU with a hickey on my neck…” My words protested but my traitor body gave in, my head falling aside to offer him access, my arms winding around his shoulders, my fingers slipping into his wet hair.  Another moment of heated contact, and then he released me, the devil in his grin when withdrew. 

 

“Looks like you’re going to have to, darling…”

 

After detangling myself from his embrace, I hurried through the shower myself, reminding myself to use conditioner, now that wearing a braid or ponytail was out of the question.  Dried and dressed, I hurried down the hallway, looking for my shoes.  I could hear Tom speaking to someone on the phone, and I paused a moment to listen.

 

“Well, it looked quite bad when I arrived last night, you know, he wasn’t very responsive.  But that may have been from sedation, I don’t know.  In any case, he sounds much better today.”  He paused while the other person spoke.  “Yes, I’m going to take her over there in just a bit and I’ll know better after that.  If I had to guess… another three days?  Maybe four?”  Another, longer pause.  “And you’re certain it’s not too great an expense?  I mean, I’m happy to eat some of the cost if necessary, I can call Michael and have him write up…  Are you sure?  I mean it, G, it’s really no problem…  Well, thank you.  From the bottom of my heart, thank you.  You’ve no idea how much I appreciate it.”

I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes, feeling a single tear slide from each one.  He chattered a moment longer before hanging up, and then he called out to me.  “Michelle, darling?  Are you almost ready?”

 

I stood up straighter and rounded the corner.  He had his back to me, scrolling through something in his phone, and I slipped my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek to his back.  “I love you,” I whispered softly. 

 

I could hear his bubbly “eheheheheh” as he clasped his hands over mine, lifting them to his lips.

 

An hour later, we walked down the corridor of the hospital ICU together, my arm around his waist, tucked against his chest beneath his shoulder.  He could feel me shaking as we drew closer to the door, and he pressed his lips tenderly against my temple.  “Sweetheart… It’s going to be all right…”  His hand slipped to the small of my back to usher me through the door. 

 

My father was propped up in his hospital bed, awake, staring at the fading sunset out the window to is right.  His color was better, and he seemed calm enough.  His head turned at the click of my heels on the floor and I froze when his eyes met mine, unable to move, even when his now crooked smile exploded across his face.

 

“Michelle, ma belle!”

 

I sobbed in broken gratitude, bolting across the room and hurling myself into his arms.  “Hey, hey,” I could feel his unaffected hand stroking my hair, my back as my tears soaked the front of his hospital gown.  His voice rumbled in his chest beneath my ear.  “Tom?  What’n the world’s gotten into this girl?”

 

I could feel Tom’s warmth as he moved in behind me, and I reached blindly back for his hand.  “Forgive her, Jack,” he urged gently, squeezing my fingers.  “She was mighty worried about you.”

 

The next several hours were a blur.  Doctors and specialists outlining Daddy’s prognosis, which was good, and the details of his necessary rehab, which would be long.  They estimated he would be able to  regain approximately seventy-five percent of the function on his left side, including the possibility of limited assisted walking with a walker, or a cane.  His kidneys appeared to be healing; another week of regular dialysis, and he would most likely be able to return home to continue his recovery outpatient.

 

But the most miraculous thing of all was how the insult seemed to have hit some sort of neurological reset button.  His most recent memory was of counting down the ball drop on New Year’s Eve; everything from then until now seemed to be gone.  But he remembered life before that.  He knew he was retired.  He knew my mother was gone.  He knew Tom.  And he knew he had Alzheimer’s.

 

He handled our discussions with the doctors remarkably well, asking appropriate question, even making appropriately rude faces and remarks when he was told about his new recommended diet and exercise plan.  Then the admission’s clerk arrived, and the money talk started.   The cost of my father’s rehab would be considerable, and of course, she reminded us, the more money we were willing and able to spend, the faster and greater his recovery would be.  He had his retirement and the supplemental insurance he’d invested in before his neuro diagnosis, but the doctors were constantly emphasizing the words “private pay” and “out of pocket”;  Tom just waved his hand every time, as if such things would not be of any concern.

 

It felt amazing every time he did it.  

 

Shop talk completed, the room became a revolving door of people, two at a time.  Bill and Susan made their appearance, as did Shane and a weeping Jeanine.  I hardly recognized Danny out of his scrubs, in pressed trousers and a sportcoat.  He had my dad belly laughing in seconds.  There were coos and squeals and cries of congratulations as my new jewelry was spotted; I don’t think I’d ever seen Tom look so proud.  Russell and Dennis arrived just after nine with enough pizza to bribe the nursing staff into keeping quiet, enough to share with the other family members clustered in the waiting room.  After having a bite of his own, Tom whispered in my ear that he might take a quick walk, since our little party was really rather crowded.  I smiled and kissed his cheek, knowing someone must have recognized him and asked him to offer their sick friend or family member an unexpected surprise. 

 

The pictures of him visiting children’s oncology would explode onto the internet the following morning, setting hearts and more than a few pairs of panties ablaze.  My Tom.

 

It was nearly midnight, and I thought it best to take pity on the poor nurses and chase our entourage away myself.  Hugs and kisses and several “call you in the morning”, and then it was me, with the two men who meant more to me than the world and the sun and the stars combined.  Daddy looked tired, but happy.  “So,” he gestured to my left hand, winking at Tom.  “She said yes.”

 

I blanched as my gaze moved between the two of them, Tom grinning with his tongue between his teeth in the most decidedly guilty fashion.  “She did.”

 

“She make you work for it?” My father teased.

 

“Jack,” Tom sighed.  “You have no idea.”

 

“Okay, wait a second here,” I held up my hands, then gave my father a side-eye.  “You knew?”

 

“That he was going to ask you to marry him?”  My dad cocked and eyebrow.  “’Course I knew.  How else was he gonna get my permission?”

 

I turned to Tom, touched.  “You asked his permission?”

 

“’Course I did,” he drawled, a perfect mimic of my father.

 

We continued to chat awhile, until my father yawned loudly from his pillow.  “We should get going, Daddy,” I leaned in to kiss his cheek.  “It’s been a long day, and tomorrow is going to be even longer.”

 

He nodded, lifting his good hand to rub the back of his neck.  “You ain’t lyin’ there, baby girl.”  He glanced around the room briefly.  “Say Tom, think you could fetch me one o’ them little nurses runnin’ around, ask ‘em to bring an old man an aspirin?  I got a fierce crick in m’neck here.”

 

“Absolutely, Jack,” he bounced out of his chair. 

 

I moved around the bed, working my fingers over the area he’d rubbed in a gentle massage.  “You okay, Daddy?”

 

“Mmm,” he grunted.  “Layin’ in a bed all day’s for shit, lemme tell you.”  I giggled, continuing to work his taxed muscles.  “You make that boy take care of you, now.  You hear me, baby girl?”

 

“I hear you, Daddy, and I will.”  I leaned down to kiss his cheek again.  “I love you.”

 

“I love you too, Chelley belle.”

 

I hopped up from the bed to snag my father’s water pitcher and refill it. I was pouring the water over the ice in his glass when I noticed.  “Daddy, don’t nod off yet.  Get your pain pill first, you’ll sleep better.” 

 

No response.  I’m pretty sure my heart knew right then.  I just took a moment for my head to catch up.

 

“Daddy?”  I shook his shoulder.  “Daddy?”  The slow, steady beep that had been so constant in the room that I hadn’t paid it any attention until now became one long continuous tone.  And I screamed.  The only word I could think of, the only word I knew would make any difference, if there was a difference to be made.

 

**_“TOM!”_ **

 

He was at my side before I could hit the ground, holding me as the code team filled the room.  He pulled me into the corner, turned me away from the chaos and the cacophony, refusing to let me lift my head from his chest.  He bore witness to what I could not, his tears falling on my hair, his mantra of comfort drowning out the time of death announcement.  “It’s all right… I’ve got you… I love you…  It’s all right… I’ve got you… I love you…”

 

An aneurysm had burst in his brain.  Quick.  No pain.  Nothing anyone could have done.  The charge nurse offered to move us to a conference room to discuss arrangements.  Tom convinced me to listen to her.  My father’s room was clean by the time we were finished.

 

Tom drove us home with my head in his lap, his fingers curling gently in my hair.  We both cried silently the entire way.  Once we were there, he poured me a glass of wine, took my hand, led me to my bedroom.  He undressed me with the same deliberate care of the previous morning, then spread me carefully on the mattress.  He made love to me for hours, kissing and caressing me like a delicate china doll that might break if handled too roughly.  Not our usual style; exactly what I needed at the time.    

 

We buried him next to my mother on a crisp and sunny April Tuesday.  Tom, criminally dashing in open collared black Armani, read James Joyce, and from _Cymbeline_.  I wore purple, and tucked my words into the sleeve of his suit jacket before the casket was sealed.  I ducked out of the receiving line early, Tom and Bill and Susan made my apologies.  I’d never been any good at those kinds of things anyway.

 

I was sitting on the beach when he found me, my heels and stockings cast aside, my toes wiggling in the sand.  “There you are,” he sank down beside me and I leaned easily into his embrace.  “Are you okay?”

 

“I am,” I nodded.  It was the truth. 

 

“Gorgeous day for it.  If that’s not weird to say.”

 

“It is,” I smiled.  “And it’s not.”  I tilted my head up to look into his eyes.  “Your selections were amazing.  Thank you so much.”

 

He kissed the tip of my nose.  “You’re very welcome, love.”  We sat and watched the waves in silence for some time, until he rubbed his hand warmly over my back.  “Penny for them.”

 

I smiled again.  “I was just thinking about those weeks were apart…”

 

“Darling…”

 

“No, listen to me,” I nudged him with my shoulder.  “All that time I spent feeling sorry for myself, bemoaning my shitty life… one of the things I was brooding about was my dad’s mental health.  I was just so sure he was getting worse and worse.  I mean, he’d always had memory issues, sure.  But he was usually pretty good about connecting conversation to conversation.  And then, all of a sudden, he wasn’t.  We’d talk, I’d cry about losing you, he’d comfort me.  A day or two, I’d call again, and he’d ask about you.  How you were doing, how your work was going, how we were getting along.  It made me so sad… I couldn’t figure out what was happening to him, why he couldn’t wrap his mind around you not being in my life anymore.” 

 

I pulled away from him gently, turning to face him.  His eyes were fixed on the horizon, his expression carefully neutral.

 

“It was you, wasn’t it?”  I reached over and took his hand in both of mine.  “You were what was happening.  You couldn’t call me.  But you called him.”

 

His eyes closed briefly, and he gave a small nod.  “I’m sorry I made you worry.”

 

I pressed my lips to his shoulder.  “Don’t be.”  I drew in a deep breath, held it a moment, let it go.  “What did you talk about?”

 

He shrugged.  “Same things he always liked to talk about.  Cars.  Basketball.  Your old boyfriends.”

 

“You did not!” I pushed him affectionately.

 

“We did,” he nodded through a chuckle.  “Lane.  Caleb.  Oliver.”  The last said with a lascivious slur.

 

“Oh, God, you did!”  I buried my face against his shoulder; he pressed a laughing kiss to the top of my head.  When the flush in my cheeks had cooled, I looked up at him once more.  “He really, really liked you.  You know that, right?”

 

Tom nodded, his eyes filling.  “I really, really liked him.”  His voice cracked, and I pulled him into my arms, stroking his back as he buried his face in my neck.  We wept quietly together for awhile, hoping, as all who mourn do, that at least a little of the grief would wash away with each tear that fell.

 

Moments passed, the sun started its descent from the sky. We watched the sandpipers skittering across the packed wet shore.  I shivered a little and he pulled me close.  “Chilly?”

 

“A little bit.”

 

“We should get back.  There’s still packing to do before tomorrow… Are you certain you don’t mind waiting to close up your place until after we’ve wrapped?  G’s already told me I can do the final push in block schedules.”

 

“Tom,” I caressed his cheek.  “I’m not going to ask you to kill yourself commuting between here and Toronto every three to four days.  It’s not going to hurt for the condo to sit empty for a few weeks.  Besides,” I snuggled against him.  “I’ve never been to Canada.”

 

He hummed softly.  “And you’re certain you want to give it up?”

 

“Good lord , Mr. Movie Star, one Carolina beach house not enough for you?”  I poked him teasingly in the ribs.  “That place will never mean to me what this place does, what the flat in London does.  Besides,” I crooked my mouth in a sheepish moue.  “There may or may not be a shit-ton of broken glass to clean up, and I’m just not up for that right now.”

 

Tom blanched a moment, then burst out laughing.  “Broken glass, eh?”  I nodded.  “Temper tantrum?”

 

“Huge temper tantrum,” I confirmed, giggling along as he rocked me easily in his embrace.  “I love you, Tom.”

 

“I love you, too, my beautiful girl.  I love you, too.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE/WARNINGS: This chapter is almost exclusively plot, but please be aware: there is some discussion of BDSM practices, even though there is no real practice.

“Grace Burkhardt, please.  Chelle O’Shea calling.”  I twisted the phone away from my mouth when the operator clicked me to hold.  “I can’t believe you’re making me do this now, on one of your few days off.”

I was pacing the floor of our Toronto apartment, twisting the hem of my camisole nightie around one finger, curling my toes against the thick, plush carpet.  Tom was lounging on the sofa, bare-chested, clad only in black cotton pajama shorts.  He was typing away on his laptop, irritatingly oblivious to my frustration.  “Well, love, if you had called her on any of the last five days while I  _was_  working, I wouldn’t  _have_  to make you do it now, on one of my few days off.”  I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out at the back of his head.  “I saw that,” he growled playfully.

“You did not!” I scowled, taking another lap across the rug. 

 The two of us had left North Carolina together the day after my father’s funeral, and our first week in our new, temporary home had been surreally calm and sweet.  After spending a day helping me settle in (fucking me mercilessly on every flat surface we could find), Tom had returned to work with refreshed enthusiasm.  I promptly made up for the weeks of restless agony by crawling into the feather bed and sleeping for sixteen hours straight.  He woke me up for a middle-of-the-night meal of burgers and fries and decadent chocolate milkshakes, then went down on me with his icy cold tongue until I was wrung out and whimpering before curling me against him for another six hours. 

He took me to the set with him the following day, eager to introduce me around.  I immediately fell in love with Guillermo, the film’s director, a huge teddy bear of a man who called me Tom’s  _preciosa pequeῆa_ and dragged me behind the camera more that once to force an opinion out of me.  Charlie, the other male lead, was a gentle giant who enfolded me in a warm hug to offer his sympathies before peppering me with questions about writing.  Lunch with the rest of the cast was a bit awkward, with me sitting in relative silence at Tom’s side while the ladies bemoaned their corseted costumes and shared tips on appetite control: hot lemon water, chewing gum, meltaway breath strips.  Mia, the actress playing Tom’s wife, side-eyed me conspiratorially.  “What about you, Michelle?” She quipped curiously.  “What do you do when you get hungry?”

I sat slack-jawed for a moment, feeling the weight of a dozen sets of eyes on me.  “Oh, uh… well, I do something way weirder than all of you.”  The girls leaned in closer, intrigued, and I shrugged.  “I eat.”

There was a moment of silence before Jessica, Tom’s on-screen sibling, rose to her feet, grabbing her plate and glass.  For a moment, I was horrified, expecting her to stalk away in insulted anger.  But she surprised me by crossing to stand between me and Tom, shoving him aside with her elbow.  “Move over, loverboy.  I’m just going to squeeze in here by my new best friend…”

That biting sarcasm might have won me a new comrade that afternoon, but it was starting to take its toll on Tom.  It wasn’t anything I was doing on purpose; I never meant to be mean or snippy, and if I was paying attention, it wasn’t a problem.  But when I was tired, or distracted, or frustrated, things just fell from my brain and rolled off my tongue like gumballs from a penny candy machine.  On top of that, the hours of idle time I had to fill left me pacing our apartment like a caged animal.  I would sit in front of my laptop, waiting for the hole in the keyboard to open up and swallow me, but all I saw were letters and a white screen in front of me, mockingly reminding me how blank it was.  One evening, Tom came home to find me prowling for odd assignments online.  He mentioned, not so casually, that now that we were back on track and my father’s story was finally at an end, a call to Grace might be more fruitful an effort.  Not looking forward to the banquet of crow I would no doubt be required to feast upon just to get my issues on her calendar, I not so casually distracted him with a hand down the front of his jeans.

But my erotic escapades only bought me so much time, and Tom had rolled me out of bed at eight o’clock that morning, hair dripping from his post- morning-run shower.  “Darling, you’re going to drive us both mad if you don’t at least find out if the Doubleday deal is still on the table.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” I groaned, thumping my way to the bathroom to scowl at my reflection in the mirror while brushing my teeth.

“If you knew that, for certain, sweet, you’d have moved on to something else.  But you don’t know that it’s gone, not for sure.  They may just be waiting for you, you know, trying to allow you a little time to grieve.  And even if it is off the table at the moment, who knows?  You might be able to convince them to give you another shot…”

Everything he said made perfect sense, and I knew he was only trying to bolster me up to try and figure out what the hell I was going to do with my writing.  But I couldn’t stop myself from pulling face after face, like a child mocking a parent when their back is turned during a scolding.  At one point, he caught me, his eyes flashing at mine in our reflections.  I rinsed my mouth before turning to face him.  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Michelle,” his voice was dark but not unkind.  “You have to do this, darling.  I know you don’t want to, but…”  He rubbed his palms up and down my arms.  “We can’t live in limbo like this.”  Sighing heavily, I slipped into his arms, pressing my cheek against his chest.   He rocked me gently, kissing the top of my head, until my hands slid down, slipping under the waistband of his shorts to caress the taut  muscles of his ass.  “No, you don’t, you little brat,” his voice was a mixture of amusement and irritation as he yanked my wrists back to my sides.  He caught my chin with his thumb and forefinger, his eyes locked with mine. “I’ve let you fuck yourself out of this corner one time too many.  Time to use that pretty mouth in an entirely different way to get what you want.”

So now I wore a groove in the floor, waiting to see what was left of my career.  I blew my bangs off my forehead in irritation.  “She’s leaving me on hold on purpose.”

Tom chuckled a little, shaking his head.  “She’s not leaving you on hold on purpose.”

“Yes, she is,” I snipped.  “She’s never kept me on hold this long before.  Thirty seconds. A minute, maybe.”

“Has it ever occurred to you, darling, that she might be busy at the moment?”

“Oh, she’s busy all right.  Busy keeping me on hold for no other reason than to fray my nerves and torture me with her crappy hold music.”

Tom laughed out loud, twisting his head on his neck to look at me.  “Crappy hold music?”

“Yes!” I activated the speakerphone and watched him wince as the tinny sounds of trumpet and harpsichord squeaked out something that might once have been “We’ve Only Just Begun” by The Carpenters.

“My God,” he scrunched his nose.  “That is bad hold music.”

“I know!  And she’s leaving me on hold, forcing me to listen to it because our last conversation took place on a really bad day and she didn’t get what she wanted.  So she’s going to play her little game, torture me for awhile, only to get on the line and tell me in no uncertain terms that our association is terminated and I need to find new representation.  And that’ll be that.  Agent gone, book deal gone.  Literary career, meet drawing board.  Drawing board, literary career.”

Tom was watching my tirade with a mixture of affection and exasperation.  “All that?” He asked.  “Just because you told her you needed more time to transition?”  I cast my eyes to the floor, chewing guiltily on my lower lip.  “Michelle?”  A note of warning in his tone.  _God, can we just go back to bed and fuck already?_

“I… may or may not have told her to… go fuck herself.”

His eyes widened, his jaw dropped a bit.  “Michelle!”

I frowned at him.  “It was a really. Bad. Day.”

He shook his head, still laughing a little.  “Well, I still think your exaggerating.  Grace is a professional, darling.  I’m sure she’s used to clients having temper tantrums from time to time.  She’s probably forgotten all about it.”

As if on cue, there was a metallic chink as the line reactivated.  “Sorry, Ms. O’Shea,” Grace’s voice drawled through the speaker.  “But somebody told me to go fuck myself and I was having a bit of trouble getting myself off.”

I narrowed my eyes to slits, mouthing silently at Tom:  _I told you so._

He mouthed right back at me:  _So, so sorry – who knew you were so smart?_

“I know, Grace, I know.  I was awful to you.  A rude, rotten, nasty…” I groped for a moment.

“Bitch?”  Grace was only too happy to fill in the blank.

“Yes,” I conceded, trying to suppress my urge to whack my fiancé upside his adorably chuckling face.  “A total bitch.  Although, in my defense, my life was sort of falling apart around my ears…”

“Can’t imagine whose fault that might have been,” she drawled.

“Oh, I  _like_  her,” Tom chortled as I looked to the ceiling for divine support.

“Okay… okay… I get it,” I grumbled.  “I’m awful.  I’m terrible.  I’m the worst.  I suck.  Are you still my agent or not?”

It took a few more minutes of groveling, but Grace did finally let me off the hook.  She told me, in all honesty, that when she’d had to put the editor at Doubleday off for a third time two weeks prior, the calls inquiring about the contract’s status had stopped.  “I’m assuming you never cashed the checks.”

“No, of course not.”

“Well, that explains why we got silence and not threats of a lawsuit.  That will also cut in your favor if they are, in fact, willing to re-open negotiation.”

“Negotiation?” My heart sank.  “You mean, you don’t think they’d just let me pick the original deal up as-is?”

“Chelle, you’ve put them off for more than a month.”  I could see Tom’s shoulders tense a bit, and I knew the I-told-you-so’s were running through his head.  I was more than a little grateful that he at least kept them to himself.  “That gives them leverage to cut the offer.”  I sighed heavily.  “Of course," she continued after a brief pause.  “The subject matter has certainly… enriched… in the interim.  Your breakup.  Your father’s passing.  Your engagement.”

I blanched a little; Tom and I hadn’t made any kind of official announcement and, as far as I knew, I hadn’t been photographed with my ring on display.  “How did…”

“Have you ever known McKenzie to keep his mouth completely shut when he’s got a gem no one else has?”

I couldn’t help but smile.  “So… you think that might give us a little leverage?”

“Us?” Grace sniffed, but I could tell from the undertone to her voice that her gears were already grinding. 

“Please, Grace?” My gentle tone was genuine.  “I can’t do this without you.”

“You’re right about that,” she harrumphed.  “Give me a day.”

“Oh, my God, Grace, thank you!  Thank you, Thank you!”  The line disconnected, and I exhaled a shuddering sigh.  Tom closed his laptop and scooted to the center of the couch, gesturing for me to join him.

“Well done, my love,” he rubbed my neck affectionately as I curled against him.  “I’m so proud of you.”

I nodded, the temporary elation quickly fading.  “Well, there’s that, I guess.”

His brow twisted, his eyes narrowed.  “What?”

I knew the vitriol that was about to spill out of my mouth was completely unwarranted and undeserved, but I found myself helpless to stop it.  “What?  My agent’s happy to do her job as long as I humiliate myself as part of her commission and Doubleday  _might_ be willing to exploit the most miserable moments of my life to turn a profit.  But hey,” I offered him a wry, bitter smile.  “You’re proud of me.”

 “Fucking Christ,” Tom muttered, pulling away from me and standing up.

I immediately wished I could suck the words back into my mouth.  “Tom…” 

“Are you going to be like this from now on,” he asked, a bit harshly, “or is this just a phase?  Some bizarre part of the mourning process I’m not well acquainted with?”

I swallowed the guilt in the back of my throat, trying to replace it with indignation and failing.  “I… I’m sorry.”

“Forgive me if I’m still inclined to tell you to fuck off, love.”  He raked his fingers through his hair.  “You know, Michelle, I know you’re scared.  I know this adjustment is the hardest you’ve ever had to make, and I know you can’t do it alone. I’m bearing what I have to with the best humor possible, because I love you so fucking much.  But I have to tell you, darling,” his eyes flashed briefly.  “I do wish you would find some other way to push through all this shit besides verbally handing me my ass on a regular basis.”

“I…”  I wanted to snap back at him with all the haughty sarcasm that had gotten me into trouble in the first place, but all I could do was sigh miserably.  “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” he sighed unhappily.  “Me, too.”  He turned on his heel and left the room, heading down the hall to the bedroom. 

I sank back into the corner of the sofa, pulling my knees to my chest, viciously berating myself.  Every single word Tom had spoken was the truth.  As happy as I was on the surface, and even a few layers down, deep inside I was a blackened, charred disaster.  Still wracked with guilt about our separation, about my largely absentee relationship with my father, about every second of time that I’d wasted, every experience I’d missed, believing I was protecting myself because no one else could.

As I sat in the silence, my mind kept revisiting Russell’s words about my need to remain numb in order to feel safe.  He was right, and I was starting to realize that that was the root of a very big problem.  Every time I had put Tom off or pushed him away, it was because he had come dangerously close to completely tearing away the curtain of white noise I’d wrapped around my most tender feelings, and my previously unexplored desire to let go and submit to the will of another.   A tapestry woven by my deep-rooted refusal to believe that there could be anyone worthy and capable of keeping me secure as I grappled my way through my emotional jungle.  And it wasn’t just Tom.  It was my friends, loving and loyal, but nomadic in profession and nature.  It was my work, where I had made myself a success skating on the surface of things but never diving deep to find out if there might actually be brilliance underneath.

The rest of it could all crumble to dust, but the thought of losing Tom again was enough to make my heart and lungs seize in my chest.

The flash in his eyes, the way they had dilated ever so briefly.

_Find some other way to push through._

Tom had never actually spanked me before.  The dominant/submissive aspects of our relationship had never really been about pain, or humiliation.  They were more about the giving and taking of control, about sharing an experience that made our connection unique from any other that we’d shared with anyone else in our lives.  Still, I would have had to have been blind or stupid not to know that the idea of putting me over his knee intrigued him. It was his favorite go-to warning whenever I teased or pouted or pushed his buttons, and at least once or twice a day, he’d affectionately swat or smack my ass as I passed him in the hallway or bent over in the kitchen. 

I’m not sure how I knew, but all at once, I just…  _knew_.

If I needed to learn how to push through, and to trust that he could carry me safely to whatever lay on the other side, I thought to myself,  this was as good a place to start as any.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: NSFW. TRIGGER WARNING FOR D/S DISCIPLINE. Someone needs a spanking. While I think this chapter is essential to understanding Tom and Michelle as individuals and as a couple, there is very little plot here, so if it’s not your thing, please just skip this one.

He was lying in the middle of the unmade bed, one arm tucked up and behind his head.  I shivered a little at the sight of the dark, downy hair under his arm, knowing how soft it always felt beneath my fingers, how it held the scent of his deodorant and clean sweat.  The little kinks we develop for the people we love.  His other hand held the bound pages of his next project, adapted from the novel lying next to one well-muscled thigh.  His expression was clouded, and I knew him well enough to know that it wasn’t the material he was reading that furrowed his proud English brow.  I tiptoed to the corner of the bed, and when he didn’t acknowledge me, I sat down beside him and lay a hand on his ankle.  “Tom?”

“What, Michelle?”  He didn’t bother to look up from his script.

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes flicked briefly to mine.  “Okay.”

“Tom…”

“Sweetheart, please.”  Endearment or not, it was undeniable he was still upset.  “I’m really not in the mood to do this now.”

“But…”

“Look, Michelle,” he finally set the pages he was reading down on his stomach.  “It’s going to be fine, okay?  Just… just please leave me be for now, all right?”

“But you’re still angry…”

“Yes, darling,” his voice darkened.  “And it’s not unfathomable that I could become even angrier.  So please… can we just let this go for now?  We’ll get past it, just…” He groped for words for a moment before closing his mouth with a sigh.  “We’ll get past it.”  He flipped the script back up and resumed reading. 

Unsure exactly what to do next, I simply sat rooted to my spot, my fingers still draped across his leg.  After a few minutes, he exhaled an exasperated sigh through his nose.  “What, Michelle?”

I swallowed hard; shifting my weight like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar.  “I… I was hoping I could do… something… to help us get past it.”

“You can,” he flipped the page.  “Leave me be, and we’ll revisit the issue later.”

 “Please, Tom,” I murmured quietly.  “I can’t wait.  Please.”  I took a deep breath.  “I hurt you.  I love you, and I hurt you.  And I think you should punish me for it.”

A heartbeat of silence, and the script fell unimportantly to the mattress.  His eyes finally met mine and held them, and I watched them swirl dark with a myriad of emotions: surprise, doubt, hesitation, and just the faintest hint of very tightly tethered excitement.  He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared at me with those gorgeous kaleidoscope eyes, jaw slightly slack, breath hitching ever so subtly in his chest.  It was all right.  This wasn’t his step to take.  It was mine. Swallowing hard but holding his gaze, I took it. 

“I think maybe it’s time you put me over your knee.”

The air was suddenly thick and heavy, silent, pregnant with anticipation.  Tom sat up from his pillow and swung his legs off the bed and stood, crossing to kneel in front of me.  Slowly, his hands rose to cup my face, his eyes piercing mine to my core.  “You know what you’re asking.”

I nodded.  “I do.”

“And this is what you want?”

I nodded again.  “It is.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly, his brow furrowing under the weight of his concerns.  “Listen to me very carefully, little one.”  He cocked his head, his expression stern.  “Do not do this for me.”

I was gripped suddenly by a moment of irrational panic, wondering if I’d completely misread his inclination and made an utter fool of myself.  My cheeks burned.   “Tom… if you don’t want to…”

“Oh, Jesus, Michelle…”  He pulled my mouth to his, kisses soft but hungry, only to pull away a bit abruptly.  He drew in a shaky breath, let it out slowly, let his forehead rest against mine.  He stroked my hair away from my face, tucked it behind my ears, rubbed his thumbs gently at the corners of my jaw.  All these little affectations, ministrations - it dawned on me slowly – all to hide the fact that, all at once, he couldn’t meet my gaze.

My Tom, my sweet, strong, always prepared, always perfect Tom, was nervous.

He was trying desperately to conceal it, but his hands had begun to tremble almost imperceptibly, the crook of his brow slightly bewildered.  He took another deep breath to steady himself, and then the clear blue of his eyes met mine once more.  “Michelle, this absolutely  _cannot_  be about me.  Not this.”

“But Tom…” I closed my hands around his wrists.  “I’m yours…”

His eyes actually teared a little as the words left my lips.  “Yes,” he affirmed, sniffling a bit, kissing me once more.  “You are mine.  But Michelle, that’s exactly the point.  You are already mine –  _you do not have to do this to make it so_.”

“But Tom,” I could hear the whine edging into my voice.  “I want to do this.”

“ _Why_?”

The urgency in that word.  A mixture of pleading “tell me because I need to know”, and commanding “tell me because I need to make certain you know”.

“Because I want… I want to feel…” I stammered, cursing my wordsmith’s brain for failing me at so critical a moment.  Until it occurred to me that I had spoken the right words after all.  “ _I want to feel_ …”

“Be certain, my love.”

I covered his hands with my own, turning my face to press my lips against his palms.  “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”  It was the truth, and suddenly, a sense of calm descended like a warm blanket around my shoulders, infusing me with a peaceful strength I hadn’t expected.  “Please, Tom…”

I watched his heart swirl across his handsome features: pride, lust, excitement, desire, all underscored by a timid and uncertain vulnerability that maybe should have worried me but somehow comforted and reassured me instead.  He pulled me close once more, kissing me deeply, his lips and tongue warm and strong; coaxing, lulling, soothing.  I was drifting pleasantly when he released me, rising again to his full height above me.  A tendril of my hair had fallen across my face; he tucked it back behind my ear with the tip of one finger.  “Stand up.”

My body trembled, my lower lip quivered.  I put my feet on the floor and rose carefully; half believing my shaking knees would buckle beneath me.  Tom moved around me, sinking down on the bed, his back straight.  He held out his hands, guiding me to stand in the sprawl of his legs.  He kissed my fingers, my knuckles, the insides of my wrists.  Then, squaring his shoulders, he raised his chin.  “Strip to your panties,  love.”

I obeyed, feeling my skin pebble with goosebumps as I lifted the soft silk of my camisole over my head, dropping it to the floor.  I could feel the caress of his eyes as it traveled over me, head to toe and back again.  He shifted ever so slightly, bringing his feet closer together.  Calm and perfectly in control, his voice dark honey.  “Do you remember your word, love?”

I nodded.  “Iris.”

“Michelle,” his gaze intensified.  “We both have to be very clear here. We can’t blur the lines.”  He paused for a breath before continuing.  “I won’t stop if you don’t use it.”

I raised my own chin a notch, offering him a small, serene smile.  “I know how this works, Tom.”

His commanding expression softened for a brief moment.  “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He sat back, a silent cue, and I took a deep breath before bending over, draping myself over his lap.  He moved my hair over my shoulder, exposing the full expanse of my bare back, running the warmth of his hands over every inch of skin.  “Relax,” he murmured gently.  “Just breathe.  We’ll start slow… easy…”

“Thank you,” I gulped, my eyes sliding shut as he slipped his fingers under the elastic of my panties, sliding them down just past the curve of my ass.  He caressed first one buttock, then the other, his large palm warm and sure.  I wound my arms around his leg, pressing my cheek to his thigh.  “I love you, Tom.  And I’m sorry.”

There was a heartbeat of stillness, and then I gasped at the soft crack of his skin striking mine, and the burning sting that blossomed beneath it.  I could feel his fingers on the nape of my neck, the base of my skull, rubbing gently in the soothing gesture I’d loved for so long.  I’d just begun to relax when he struck me again, on the other side. A tiny yelp skipped out of my throat and I tightened my arms around his leg, squeezing my eyes shut.  “Sweetheart?”

“I’m okay, Tom,” I reassured him.  “Please… I’m okay.”

Taking my word, he resumed, his hand falling in a random pattern, the top of one buttock, the bottom of the other, back and forth, slow, steady, even.  Each blow landed with a biting sharpness that then spread in pools of searing heat beneath my skin.  I knew he wasn’t using near the strength he possessed, and I was profoundly grateful. It hurt; not as much as I’d expected, but more than I might have chosen.  I knew it wouldn’t help, but I kept holding my breath, until a strike would push the air from my lungs in a whimper or a sob. Every sound made him pause, giving me time to evaluate where I was, how much further I wanted to go.  The tears started after only a few strokes, salty relief pattering silently to the carpet.  And all the while his free hand stroked and soothed and massaged, his voice comforting me, reminding me to breathe, telling me he loved me. 

As the pain triggered a flooding release of endorphins through my body, I became aware of an insistent hardness poking against my hip, and I couldn’t suppress the moan of longing that bubbled up behind my lips.  His velvety chuckle rained over me.  “Enjoying yourself, darling?” He teased gently.  “I thought this was supposed to be a punishment…”

“I’m sorry,” I gasped raggedly.

“Maybe I’m going too easy on you here,” he queried, not unkindly, striking with a little more force. 

I yelped, gripping his leg desperately.  “No!  Please, Tom… oh, God… please…”

“If you want me to stop,” another blow, even harder, even as his voice softened, soothing and sweet. “You’re using the wrong words.”

I bit my lip, tears flowing faster, knowing I could easily safe out and it would all be over.  But I knew, if I did indeed safe out, it would all be over.  So I buried my face in the muscle of his thigh, trying to think only about my breathing.  A few more blows, the hardest yet, and my entire body began to shake.  Another, and the word was on my lips.  And then his hand slipped easily between my legs, stroking my swollen and weeping folds with firm gentility.  I wailed softly in relieved pleasure, and he shushed me sweetly.  “There you are… my good girl… my good, sweet girl…my beautiful, beautiful Michelle…”

He let me continue to lie in his lap for a few long moments before shifting me carefully, helping me rise and then crawl onto the bed.  There was always a bottle of water on the bedside table, sometimes two, next to the EMT quality shears; Tom pressed his lips to my bare shoulder as I sipped.  I lay on my side and he lay down next to me, slipping my panties further down, then off, smoothing back my hair, wiping away my tears.  “Are you okay?” He asked, his lips dancing over my brow as he pulled the blankets up over my shoulder. 

I nodded, shifting experimentally.  I realized was going to have a hard time sitting for the next day or two, and the revelation left me utterly grateful in a way I didn’t fully understand.  I snuggled against his chest as he kissed my forehead, my eyelids, the tip of my nose.  His palms stroked my shoulders, my back, my hips, until I felt like every inch of my skin was glowing.  When his eyes met mine, I closed my teeth on my lip.  “I’m so sorry, Tom.”

"It’s all right, love," he murmured.  "I forgive you.  I understand you’re going to hurt for a long time.  And I intend to be here with you, every step, and every tear.  But Michelle, you simply have to find more effective ways of coping with what hurts you, what frightens you.  If I thought, for one moment, that tearing me a new asshole three or four times a day, or lashing out at everyone you care about with bitterness and sarcasm would make you whole again, I’d not say a word.  But darling, all it does is make things worse - you’ve piled guilt, and the fact that you’ve got the world pissed off at you, on top of everything else that’s already there."  He traced a fingertip over my lips.  "You have to find a way to take the pain, own it for a moment, and then let it go.  Stop curling up with it… let it go…"

His kind words, the velvet caress of his voice, and tears were sliding down my cheeks once more.  “I love you so much, Tom.”  I pulled him against me, and as his tongue danced over my bottom lip, I felt his cock, still fully erect, pushing against my lower belly.  It set fire to the flesh beneath, from my navel to the tops of my knees, and my body clenched in on the emptiness at my core.  Moaning softly into his mouth, I slid one leg up over his hip, hissing just a bit as the movement stretched and chafed the bruised skin of my backside. 

"Sweetheart," he pulled his hips back, "we don’t have to do this now…"

"Yes, we do!" I nearly sobbed.  "Please, Tom," I begged weakly.  "Please, please fuck me."

His eyes searched mine, his lips twisted in a tight moue of concern.  “You’re certain?”

"Oh, God, yes… please…"

His mouth relaxed into a small smile, and I eagerly helped him slip out of his shorts.  I wound my arms around him, pulling his body flush with mine, but no sooner had I rolled flat than I was pushing up again with a dismayed yelp.  Tom’s expression snapped at once from sensation-drunk to vigilantly concerned.  “Too much?”  I nodded, and he carefully moved on to his back, lifting me above him.  It took us a moment to find the right angle that would allow me to sheath him and rock above him without further irritating my sore buttocks, but our cries of delight mingled at last when he finally slid home inside me.  His fingers braided through mine and his strong hands and arms propped me up, held me safely in balance as I twisted and writhed against him.  His lips and tongue teased my nipples as they bounced above his mouth, his teeth catching them every now and again in sharp little scrapes and tugs. 

We were both breathing raggedly, our skin shiny with perspiration when the tightly coiled spring of my orgasm prepared to unfurl inside me.  I pressed my pubis against his, needing the sensation of my swollen clit grinding against him.  “Fucking hell,” he gasped, his gaze glued to the spot where my body swallowed his.  “So deep… feels incredible…”  I moaned wordless agreement and he chuckled a little.  “That’s my girl,” he urged.  “Oh, Christ… Michelle… you’d better come with me, love…”

"Yes, Tom," I gasped, twisting my hips, gripping his hands so hard I was certain he’d have bruises of his own the following day.  He lifted his body beneath me, meeting me thrust for thrust, completing the circuit and sending white hot currents flowing through me.  I arched, taut as wire, my head thrown back on my neck, the tiny shocks of pain from my swollen buttocks brushing the hard, flexed muscles of his thighs seeming to intensify my  pleasure, drawing it on and on in an exquisitely endless tide. 

When the vise of sensation finally released I collapsed against his chest, breathing open-mouthed against his damp skin.  He untangled our fingers and wrapped his arms around me, taking no more than a moment of recovery himself before turning me onto my side once again.  His hands caressed my face, his eyes searching mine.  “Are you with me, love?”  I nodded hazily, a bit too blissed out to speak, and he tugged gently on my hair.  “Come on, Michelle, I need you to answer me…”

“’M good,” I managed to slur.  “Don’ harsh my buzz…”

Tom let his head rock back on his neck as he laughed, once again tucking the linens close around my body.  “I’m going to get you some ibuprofen, all right, sweet girl?”  I nodded, still euphoric.  “You stay here, all right?”  I nodded again, and he tutted softly.  “Michelle…”

“You’re getting ibuprofen,” I hummed.  “I’m staying right here.”  I wrapped myself around his pillow, as if to emphasize my words, and I felt the bed shift as he slipped from it.  I watched appreciatively the flow of the muscles in his back, his ass, his thighs as he crossed, unselfconsciously nude, to the bathroom.  “You are so sexy,” I purred when he returned.

“My goodness,” he chuckled, dropping the pills into my palm.  “What a sweet girl you become, given a little discipline…”

“I’m always sweet,” I giggled softly, swallowing them with a deep draught of water, whimpering a little as the shifting of my weight sent a reminder of said discipline up from the base of my spine.  “I just have trouble showing it sometimes…”


	27. Chapter 27

Once the ibuprofen had kicked in, Tom helped me rise carefully from the bed and held me close as I eased myself into the bathroom, determined to view the results of his hands on my body before they’d had a chance to fade. I had long before realized that bearing his marks, having some visible, physical reminder of his influence over me, somehow comforted me, made me feel more connected to him. I’d wept bitterly the morning when, just a few days into our separation, I’d tossed my hair back to see only clear, unblemished skin where formerly there had almost always been evidence of his mouth on my flesh.  I didn’t completely understand it, and I wasn’t sure if I ever would.  But I was at peace with it.  And now, something new to wonder over.

He stood close by my side as I turned my back to the mirror, his brow scrunched with worry, his lip caught between his teeth as I gasped in surprise, and reverence.  Every shade of red spread over the fleshy curves of my buttocks, crimson in some spots, only pale pink in others; some broad, left by his palm, while others bore the clear outlines of his fingers.  I reached back to stroke and trace, hissing softly through my teeth when my fingers found the few spots that I knew would be shades of purple by the evening.

“Are you all right, darling?” Tom asked me nervously.  I wasn’t used to seeing this side of him.  Normally so confident and commanding, it would never even occur to me to offer him reassurance simply to soothe his mind.  I found it sweetly endearing, and it suddenly struck me that we had, in a manner of speaking, just given our virginity to one another. 

Taking his face in my hands, I kissed him, my mouth slightly open, my tongue tickling the seam of his lips without pressing for further entry.  “I’m amazing, Tom,” I answered, smiling wider than I’d smiled in weeks.  “Really, I am.  Thank you.  Thank you so much.”

Breathing a small sigh of relief, he took a moment to trace his eyes over my reflection with me.  “How badly does it hurt?”  He asked gently.  “Do you need ice, or something like that?

I shook my head absently, once again lost in fascination with my own skin.  “I should probably put heat on it later.” I mused quietly.  “If I want to sit at all this week, that is.”  I heard the tiny grunt that accompanied his wince, and I reached out to caress his jaw again.  “Stop that,” I murmured, gazing deeply into his eyes.  “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do, anything I didn’t _need_ you to do, and it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

He searched my eyes for a moment.  “So this… this is really okay?  I mean, Michelle…” He trailed off briefly, lingering doubt in the eyes that glued to the deeper hued spots at the swells of my ass.  “Some of those handprints are going to be there awhile.”  I shivered in delight at his words, and he couldn’t suppress a tiny chuckle.  “Well, I guess that answers that…”  Turning fully towards him, I wound my arms around his neck, stroking my fingers through his hair.  His palms slid around my ribs and down to the base of my spine, and he rocked me gently in his embrace.  “I love you, little one.”

“I love you, too,” I murmured softly, drawing him down for another slow, sweet kiss.

The experience of finding such an emotional release with Tom as my strong and protective guide was rewarding enough.  The vigilantly loving way he soothed me through the aftermath was even more delightful.  But it was ultimately the corrective success of that first punishment that was the real payoff.  From the sharp twinges that would spark whenever I shifted or sat, to the dull ache that lingered for days; whatever sensations I was feeling chased away complacency, kept me aware of the words I was speaking, the manner in which I was speaking them.  And with my mouth no longer geared up to be such an unpredictable weapon, Tom was able to relax – I hadn’t even realized how on edge my poor coping skills had left his sweet and easy going nature until it reappeared and I realized how much I’d missed it.

We were lounging on the sofa the following evening, my head in his lap as we watched Burt and Mary dance their way across London’s rooftops, when my phone buzzed, alerting me to a new text and unread email.  A moment passed, and then he chuckled a bit.  “Are you going to get that?”

“Huh-uh,” I grunted.  “Best part of the movie, best seat in the house.”

“We can pause the movie,” he picked up the remote control and did exactly that.  “And this seat is always exclusively reserved for you.”  He leaned forward over me to grab my mobile, chiding me playfully as I wriggled affectionately against the weight of his crotch.  I sighed as he placed the device in my hand, then swallowed hard when I looked at the sender of the messages.  “Grace?” He asked, tucking one of the throw pillows under my backside as I moved to sit up.   I nodded, swiping the screen with my lip caught between my teeth.

_“You’re luckier than you have any right to be. – G”_

“Oh, my God,” I breathed softly as I clicked on the email attachment.

“You got it?” Tom shifted excitedly beside me, leaning to read over my shoulder.

“I got it.”  My eyes scanned the contract briefly.  “They want a notes session with Grace and me as soon as possible and a full first draft by July 15th.”

“That’s my girl!”  He took my face in his hands, turning me towards him, pressing his lips against mine.  “Darling, I’m so proud of you.”  He smoothed his hand over my forehead, which I knew was furrowed with anxiety.  “July… that’s generous…”

“Yeah… generous,” I answered, preoccupied, feeling the timeline was anything but.  I rose from the sofa and padded into the study, tucking my leg under me as I sat down in front of my laptop.  I only intended to print out the contract so that I could have a better look.  But as it queued up to print, I realized that I didn’t exactly have the kind of outline the Doubleday editors would be expecting, since the offer to transition the piece from article to book had come on the day I’d decided to blow my world apart, and I hadn’t looked at the writing since.  So I opened the body of the work and began to structure what was there, which, of course, led to construction for the framework of what was to come.  I was vaguely aware of Tom’s presence once or twice, asking if I was going to come back for the end of the movie, slipping a pillow between my bottom and the thinner cushion of the chair, and I can only assume it was his thoughtfulness that caused the bottle of water to manifest on the desk beside the keyboard.  When I finally paused for more than a moment to lean back and stretch my arms and spine, it was well after midnight.  The television was off, the apartment dark save for the soft nightlight we always left burning in the outlet next to the bedroom door.  I tiptoed into the bedroom, pausing silently at the foot of the bed.

His head was sunk deeply into the pillow, his black hair feathered around his face.  Shadows dusted his angular cheeks beneath his long lashes, and his lips were slightly parted as he breathed, slow and steady, in his sleep.  One hand was splayed just above his heart; the other loosely grasped the sheet below his navel.  I could smell the nearly faded citrus and clove of his cologne, and the mint of our toothpaste.  Overcome with wanting him, I had to press my thighs together to stop the flood of my arousal from soaking through my jeans.  I undressed as quickly and silently as I could before slipping into the bed next to him.  I froze when he stirred ever so slightly, wanting him completely settled before touching him, hoping I could tantalize him awhile in his dreams before waking him to sweet reality.  The hand that held the sheet slid limply to his side, and I carefully pulled the linen back, exposing him fully to my gaze.    

My hair fell in a curtain across his lower abdomen as I pressed my lips to a naked thigh, feeling the muscle flex ever so slightly under his smooth, masculine skin.  I traced the tip of my tongue up along the ridge that led to his hip, down into the divot, and over to the line of hair that thickened as it descended.  Lower, and lower, until I’d reached his cock, still hidden completely within his foreskin.  I loved finding him this way, soft, yet still impressive in both length and girth.  I kissed every flaccid inch, breathing in his warm and musky essence before closing my lips around his concealed head.  He exhaled a breathy sigh, his hips shifting ever so slightly as the gentle draw of my mouth coaxed his blood to fill him slowly.  I slipped my tongue underneath the protective hood to find the softer skin of his crown, teasing, tasting him already leaking at his tip.

He shifted again, a quiet moan falling from his lips like a caress, and I closed my fingers carefully around him.  I slid my grip down slowly, exposing his most sensitive flesh and making his body arch in search of contact.  I swirled my tongue around him in lazy circles, watching the goosebumps spread over him as the cool air hit the wetness I left behind.  He muttered in his sleep, the hand on his chest stroking its way down to his belly, the other lightly fisting the sheet at his side.  Smiling to myself, I parted my lips and took him in, closing my eyes to enjoy the sensation of him swelling in my mouth. I held him for a long moment before pulling back slowly, letting my tongue trace the thick vein that ran the bottom of his length before lapping lightly at the susceptible spot just below his crown.  I heard his sharp inhale, felt his fingers slip into my hair.  “Michelle?” His voice was thick with sleep and awakening desire.  Humming quietly, I took him deep once more, swiftly this time, relaxing my throat to slip him past the threshold of my resistance.  “Fucking hell,” he groaned, spreading his legs and bowing up to meet my effort. 

“Sorry I woke you,” I whispered huskily after releasing him from my mouth, stroking him languidly from base to crown.  “I just couldn’t help myself…”

“Oh, God,” he growled, shifting until his feet were braced against the mattress, pushing his dripping head to my lips.  “Please, love… please, help yourself.”

I didn’t need any more encouragement, but that didn’t stop him from offering it, lost somewhere between dream and reality as he wrapped my hair in his fist, holding my head to the angles that pleased him most.  His body was silver-blue in the moonlight, muscles rippling in fluid perfection beneath his skin as he thrust.  “Such a naughty little minx, “he rasped. “With such a warm, talented little mouth.”  I whimpered softly, my hand slipping between my legs to trace along my saturated folds, needing to soothe the ache that was radiating out from inside me.  His eyes caught our reflection in the mirror that hung over the bureau directly behind me, putting our lascivious coupling on perfect display.  “Mmmm,” he hummed in satisfaction.  “Does it excite you so much, sweet, the way I fuck your eager little mouth?  The way I slide against your nimble little tongue?  The way my cock fills your tight, stubborn little throat?”

I moaned affirmation around his shaft, nodding as much as his iron grip would allow. 

“Could you come like this, do you think?” He mused teasingly, tracing my mouth with a gentle thumb.  “My cock pulsing between these lips while your fingers play between those?”  I whimpered a little, a small sound of uncertainty as I realized my own touch was only aggravating my hunger, rather than sating it.  Hoping to distract him, I swallowed around him, letting him feel the muscles of my throat shudder around him and making his head fall back on his neck.  “Wicked little thing,” he chuckled when his gaze met mine once more.  “Do it, Michelle.  Make yourself come.”  I whined through my nose, pleading with eyes.  He read my dismay, and responded with command.  “Make us both come, and I promise, I’ll fuck you until the only word you’ll remember is my name.  Otherwise,” he cocked a stern eyebrow.  “You won’t come at all.”

Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath and held it a moment, trying to focus, trying to connect the pleasure I wanted to give him to the pleasure he insisted I give myself.  As I surrendered again to the thrusting of his hips, I parted my seam and slipped two fingers up inside.  I pushed against my own touch as Tom rumbled his approval, his eyes glued to the mirror.  “That’s it, love… fuck that sweet little cunt…”  Before long I was matching the rhythm and force of his thrusts, sucking him deeply as I dragged my fingers against and around my inner walls.  I could hear his breathing growing ragged, feel his thighs quivering as his enjoyment grew.  Crooking my hand, I thrust a third finger deep into my core, pressing my fingertips against the textured flesh of my g-spot.  The sensation sent a shuddering vibration through my body that intensified when I rocked the heel of my hand against my throbbing clitoris.

 “Oh, good girl,” he praised me coarsely.  “Such a good girl… oh, fucking Christ, Michelle…”  His grip shifted slightly, one hand sliding to the back of my head, one hand catching me beneath my chin.  He angled my neck so that he could thrust with abandon without hurting or choking me, and as I felt the first hot jets of his release coating the inside of my mouth, my own orgasm gripped me in a merciless vice.  I cried out around his cock, swallowing what I could, feeling the rest drip over my lips and chin.  And then he was pulling, dragging me up his body, kissing me hungrily as he moved me beneath him.  His knees spread my legs wide, and he pulled my soaking fingers to his mouth, licking and sucking every trace of my juices from my skin.

“Keep your promise, Tom,” I begged, rolling my body in invitation.  “Please…”

Sitting back a bit, he took his relaxed cock in his hand, and I watched as he stroked himself to full erection once more.  Lifting me up over his thighs, he thrust hard, and I screamed his name in delight.  He lay his full length over me and our mouths met in a breathless dance.  His fingers braided through mine, lifting my hands up over my head, stretching my torso until his lips and tongue could easily catch my breasts as they bounced from the rhythm of his thrusts. I wrapped my legs around his waist and lifted myself in offering, moaning his name over and over in a mantra of ecstasy. 

It wasn’t quick and dirty, but neither did he make me wait, setting a slow, punishing pace until we were quivering against one another, sweat-slicked skin gliding easily over sweat-slicked skin.  And then, when the familiar cramping and tightening took hold, he released my hand and sat back.  “Do it again, love,” he urged, swiping his tongue over his lower lip.  “I want to watch…”

Moaning softly, I slid my touch down over my breast, past my belly, to the swollen bundle of nerves that throbbed beneath his gaze.  I caught it in the vee of my fingers, gently tugging and stroking until the sensation was nearly too much to bear.  “Tom…”

“Yes, darling, yes,” he gasped, unable to tear his eyes away from the juncture where our bodies became one.  “I’m right there with you, love…”  I began to rub furiously as he nodded his approval, and a moment later, he was grabbing my thighs hard enough to dimple the flesh, grinding his pubic bone mercilessly against mine.  I could feel the heat of his release as he filled me, and that was all it took to send me careening over the edge, my body bowing off the mattress as I fell, spiraling down and down and down into the bliss-filled that was nothing but the touch of his hands, the scent of his skin, the taste of his mouth, and the sound of his voice to keep me from drifting too far.

I came back to the gentle teasing of his lips on my neck, his fingers in my hair.  “There’s my little one,” he purred happily, and I wound my arms around him.

“Sorry I ditched the end of the movie,” I murmured, kissing his forehead.

“Quite all right,” he assured me, shifting against the pillow, moving himself onto his back and me onto his chest.  “It was good to see you working again.”  I nodded, smoothing my hair back when stray strands tickled at his lips and chin.  “Are you…” he paused for a long moment.  “Going to be all right? You know, dredging through all that material?”

I ran my fingers through the hair on his chest as I pondered.  “No,” I answered finally.  “And yes.  It’ll be therapeutic.”  I wiggled against him suggestively.  “As long as you keep me in line…”  He chuckled warmly, playfully slapping my still tender backside.  “Owww…”

“Think you can sneak that notes meeting in before we’re off home?  I’d hate to leave without you.”

A shiver ran down my spine.  London.  _Home_.   I caught myself looking at my ring, the way it caught the moonlight and split it, casting a dozen prisms across the ceiling.  “I’ll make certain of it,” I promised, rising up to kiss his lips.

“Good.”  He was looking at my ring as well.  “We have plans to make.”

“Yes,” I smiled at him, “we do.”


	28. Chapter 28

“Okay, darling, I think that’s the last of it.”

I blew my bangs back off my forehead, snapping the lid back onto the marker in my hand as Tom strode down the hallway towards me, two midsized cardboard boxes stacked in his arms.  “They’re tacking down the new carpet and it looks like the paint’s already nearly dry.”  He eyed the smaller box I’d just labeled.  “Want me to take that as well?”  I smiled gratefully, placing it atop his load and closing my eyes as he leaned in for a kiss.  Then, as he headed out the front door of the condo, I began my final walkthrough; taking a long, last look around at the walls I had called home for so many years.

Tom and I had arrived in Belhaven four days earlier.  Filming for _Crimson Peak_ had finished without a hitch, and I’d even managed to make it back from my daytrip to the Doubleday offices in New York in time for the wrap party.  We danced just enough, drank just a little too much.  The glass partition and Tom’s hand over my mouth weren’t enough to completely shield the limo driver from our impatient and vigorous backseat recreation, as evidenced by the flush in his cheeks and his carefully averted eyes when we clambered out of the car in front of our apartment.  But a few quiet words, a sheepish grin, and a hefty tip left Tom fairly confident his discretion would remain intact.  I whispered in his ear, as he fumbled the key into the lock, that I didn’t care… that, given the mood I was in, he could have fucked me on the buffet table in front of cast, crew, and press, and all I would have done was smile pretty for the cameras.  “ _Now_ you tell me…”  He’d groaned before bending me over the arm of the sofa.

So we were exhausted, and mildly hungover, when our plane touched down at ILM; all we wanted to do was collapse into a bed and sleep in one another’s arms.  Tom had scoffed gently at me when I suggested we check into a hotel, thinking I was exaggerating about the less-than-hospitable state I’d left the house in when I’d fled weeks before.  It was almost amusing to watch his expression as he surveyed my temperamental handiwork; I think part of him was actually quite impressed.  So the mattress returned to the living room floor; we didn’t even bother to dress it with sheets before tumbling onto it, fully clothed.  We slept through until early the following morning, when we rose to begin the process of cleaning, packing, and dividing my belongings in to one of four piles – ship, store, donate, trash.  A work crew of six had arrived earlier in the day to paint and replace the carpets, and the new owner was scheduled to arrive at any time to pick up the keys.

I wandered from room to room, looking at the now naked walls, thinking, remembering.  I stood in the middle of the empty bedroom, gazing out into the modest backyard, watching the thrushes and the jays light along the fence and between the branches of the trees.  The widows were open, and I could hear the whisper of the waves stroking the beach just beyond the fence line, and the scent of salt and magnolia drifted on the breeze.  A tear slid down my cheek as warm, strong arms embraced me from behind and soft, sweet lips caressed my ear.  “Are you all right, my love?”

I turned in his arms, tilting my face up to his.  He’d had a haircut once shooting was finished, and the first threads of his natural blonde were beginning to shoot up from his roots into the artificial black.  His eyes were as green and gold at that moment as they were blue, and I couldn’t remember ever wanting to lose myself in anything more than their warm and endless depths.  I nodded silently and he bent his head, catching my lips between his own.

A knock echoed through the empty rooms, a soft, feminine drawl called out shyly.  “Hello?  Ms. O’Shea?  Front door’s open… anybody here?”

Twenty-two.  Blonde hair in a curly bob.  Mocha eyes that ate up half her face.  A recent film school graduate, she kept stealing glances at Tom from her periphery as we reviewed the mortgage exchange.  “He’s so handsome,” she whispered quietly as we watched him oil the chain of the freshly stained porch swing through the bay window.  “I can’t believe I’m gonna be livin’ in a house where he actually slept,” she turned her gaze to me reverently.  “You’re such a lucky woman… my gosh…”

“I am,” I agreed with her softly, sliding the keys across the counter.  “I am, at that.”

The air in the Jeep smelled of the clippings Tom had taken from the backyard trees as we drove the U-Haul trailer behind us, back to the house I’d grown up in.  The house that had passed to me when my father passed away, the house neither of us could bring ourselves to part with.  The cleaning, stripping, and organizing of that particular space was one issue I had happily let Tom throw money at to resolve, Skyping and Facetiming my instructions to the flippers while safely cocooned in our Toronto study.  The garage was full of boxes, with labels such as kitchen, master suite, M’s room, guest room.  The front door swung open to the smell of fresh paint. The furniture was all in place, covered by protective dust tarps, but the walls were bare, a naked canvas for Tom and I to paint our own palate upon when the pain and grief had faded enough for us to make the space our own. 

Bill and Susan brought Rocket and ribs and potato salad and their teenage grandson Jeff to help unload the boxes.  He blanched when I pressed the keys to the Jeep into his hand and signed over the title.  It was the least I could do to try and say thank you to the couple who had been there on so many nights when I was not.

I stood in the empty master bedroom after dinner, watching the sun set, wiggling my bare toes against the plush carpet that had always felt like sacred ground.  Again, Tom found me and embraced me from behind.  “Beautiful girl,” he murmured into my hair.  “What are you thinking about?”

I laughed a little through my nose.  “Country music.”

I felt him quirk his head behind me.  “I beg your pardon?”

I laughed again, leaning back against his chest.  “Daddy loved his dress blues but he hated the formal shindigs he always had to wear them for,” I explained.  “Five… six times a year.  He and my mom would get all dressed up and float out the door to these dinners and parties with the other NCO’s and their wives.  Mom, of course, loved it… ‘Nothin’ in this world fixes a bad mood like a new dress and a fresh coat of lipstick’.”

“Sounds lovely,” Tom breathed against my ear.

“Not always,” I sniffed, looking up at him with a rueful grin.  “See, Momma wasn’t as lucky as I am.  Her man wasn’t fond of the dance floor like mine is.”  I rubbed my palms over his forearms.  “Every event, every dinner, he’d hustle her out the door, promising that that time would be different.  That time, they’d have a waltz, or a two-step, maybe even a tango if the tune was right.”  I chewed on my bottom lip briefly.  “And every night, she’d huff through the door in front of him when they got home, heels in hand, griping about how he’d spent yet another evening schmoozing with the other chiefs at the bar or in the lobby and the only man who’d dared offer her a spin around the floor was that awful Andy Brooks and you know how handsy HE can be when he’s had a Miller Light or two…”

Tom’s laugh rumbled against my spine and I snuggled closer to him.  “I’d hear her slam the bedroom door, and I’d find Daddy shaking his head in the kitchen.  He’d scold me for being awake so late, but he’d still sit me on the counter, make me a cup of warm milk with honey, and tell me my butt better be in bed as soon as the last drop was down.  He’d kiss my forehead and then he’d leave, and a few minutes later, I would hear the stereo in here.  Johnny Cash, Conway Twitty, the Everly Brothers.  And I’d sneak down the hall, and I’d peek through the crack in the door…”  The tears in my throat choked off the words.

It was all right.  Tom finished the story for me.  “They’d be dancing.”

I nodded, closing my eyes.  I could still smell Old Spice, and White Shoulders.

Tom’s arms released me, and I turned with a frown.  He had slipped his phone from his pocket and was sliding his finger across the screen.  “Tom?’  
 

He shushed me softly.  “We’re going to change a lot about this house,” he mused.  “But not this.”  He tucked the device into his lapel pocket as the soft strains of Lonestar’s piano filled the air, and offered me his hand.  “This is a bit more contemporary,” he apologized as he pulled me against him, already swaying us both to the melody.  “Best I can do on short notice.”

“It’s perfect,” I whispered before his lips sealed over mine.

His eyes never wavered from mine, one arm low around my waist, the other hand holding my palm to his chest above his heart.  I stroked my fingers over the shell of his ear, down the taut line of his neck, traced the bow of his mouth.  “Tell me,” he whispered against my fingertips.

“I’m yours, Tom,” I whispered.  “I’m yours.”

“And?”

The tears that had hovered finally slipped free, one down each cheek.  “And you’re mine.  I’m yours and you’re mine… you’re mine…”

I hadn’t been certain that that room would ever be anything except Mom and Dad’s.  But when Tom peeled away my clothes and spread me on that lush carpet, when he stripped away his own and covered me with his naked skin, when he made love to me, letting me hold him as he moved over and around and above and inside, so slow, so deep, he made it into something else.  Something old and new, something safe and exciting, something certain and honest and secret and true.  A place too sanctified for everyday use, but a cornerstone of escape.  A haven from lights and cameras and scripts and agents, from formality and expectation and pretense.  No Loki, no Chelle, no Mr. Hiddleston, no Ms. O’Shea.  Just he and I, skin and breath, and taste, and touch, and love.

So much love.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: If anyone's curious, the song I had in mind was Lonestar's "Amazed"


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE/WARNINGS: It goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway: THIS IS FICTION. MY IMAGINATION. I do not personally know any member of the Hiddleston family, and any words and actions here are complete fabrications. What you read here has absolutely nothing in common with their flesh and blood counterparts.

“That’s the one, Michelle,” Emma was practically bouncing off her chair.  “That’s the one… oh, my gosh, don’t you think so?”

As I stood on the dais and eyeballed myself in the mirror, I had to admit that my soon-to-be little sister-in-law was right.  Sweetheart neckline above an empire waist, bright white silk with flowing organza that landed just above my toes.  It complimented my breasts without crushing the breath out of me and highlighted the curves of my hips and ass without making it look like I had too much extra to conceal.  Meghan, the salon attendant was nodding in approval as well.  “The Swarovski inlay is available in three different patterns,” she shuffled through the pages of the catalogue she held.  “There’s the Spiral,” she tapped one photo.  “The Blossom,” she tapped another.  “But the one you have on, the Cascade, is, in my opinion, the loveliest.”  I smoothed my hands over the sparking crystals that dotted the bodice and rained down the skirt.  “But you can select any pattern you choose when you order.”

“Do they come in purple?” Sarah teased from her seat next to Emma.  I stuck my tongue out at her via one of the dozen mirrors surrounding me.

“They come in every color,” Meghan gushed, as if we should have known better.

“Oh, my God, Michelle,” Emma pogoed in her chair once more.  “You have to do it… purple… oh, Tom will love it so, so much…”

Laughing, I stepped off the platform and offered my back to the clerk, who quickly and efficiently began releasing the dozens of buttons that trailed down my spine.  “I guess I’m taking the Cascade in purple, please.”  Emma squealed as she tossed me my dress to slip over my head as the gown fell away. 

“Wonderful,” Meghan dropped to her knees, holding the pool of delicate fabric carefully as I stepped out of it.  “When is the big day?”

I shivered a little as I adjusted the clip that held my hair atop my head.  “October fourth.” _One year,_ I thought to myself.  _To the day._

“Oh, an autumn wedding!  How fabulous!”  She bustled about, hanging the gown back on its hanger and zipping the protective plastic closed over it.  “St. Mark’s?  St. Christopher’s?”

I quirked my brows at Tom’s sisters as they giggled behind their hands.  “Uh… my future mother-in-law’s back yard,” I offered awkwardly, forcing myself not to roll my eyes at the young woman’s subsequent meltdown.

“Oh, my _GOSH_ , that’s just too sweetly _perfect_ … she must be so thrilled… a small, family affair I assume… just perfectly _lovely_ …”

I flopped into the empty chair next to Sarah and accepted the flute of champagne she offered.  “Down this,” she grinned.  “Then we’ll off to pub for something stronger…”

“Thank God,” I muttered, downing the glass in half a dozen stiff swallows.

Thirty minutes later, the three of us were tucked into a corner booth at Emma’s favorite hole in the wall, our dozen or so shopping bags kicked absently under the table.  The Jameson burned its way to my belly, and the dark, rich ale soothed behind it.  “Who the hell knew,” I pushed my bangs back from my forehead, “that planning a wedding for less than thirty people could be so exhausting?”

“You’re the centerpiece,” Sarah winked conspiratorially.  “You’d be exhausted if it was just you and Tom and the vicar.”

Despite my genuine yearning to return to the home that Tom and I had shared and the life we’d been building, I had been an absolute basket case our first few days back in London.  And it was almost entirely because I was terrified to face his family’s reaction to our reuniting.  He had assured me, over and over, that he had told them very little about the circumstances surrounding our separation; that he had cited professional and personal pressures that made time apart a more sensible option than time spent together making one another miserable.  But there was no covering up that I had left him, no denying that I had taken my things and gone, and that he wasn’t happy about it.  And the more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself that his protective silence may have been just as damning, if not more so, than the truth.  I’d already been extended one warm welcome, and I doubted, after clearly causing him distress, that I would be offered another.

So when Diana called the Friday after our return to invite us to a family dinner that Sunday, I’d found myself vaulted into emotional Chernobyl. I was like a death row inmate on forty-eight hour countdown before facing the firing squad.  Frazzled and frustrated and nearing the end of his own rope as I paced the floor a weepy, muttering mess, Tom threatened to drag me upstairs, tie me to the bed, and leave me there.  No sooner had the words left his mouth than our eyes locked.  A heartbeat later, he had me slung over his shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time.  Tie me down he did, but he never left my side, lips and tongue and fingers and cock driving me to climax after climax until I was sore and sobbing and shaking in his arms. 

Emma’s bubbly-sweet and forgiving nature had kicked in almost as soon as she opened the door.  She’d thrown herself into her brother’s arms, only making me await a moment before embracing me, too.  Diana came next, holding her son’s face in her hands as if to gauge his happiness through touch.  She’d tucked my hair behind my ear before hugging me briefly as well, murmuring a quiet, “Welcome home, dear.”

Sarah took convincing.

She’d stood coolly at the perimeter of the group, and the looks she and Tom exchanged when they hugged in greeting spoke volumes, his warning her to keep her opinions to herself, hers aloofly defiant, warning him that she’d do as she pleased.  Dinner at the dining table was not entirely uncomfortable: Emma prattling on about a young artist she’d met when her theater group commissioned him for set design, Sarah’s plans to chronicle the evolution of a new women’s rights group upon her return to India, Diana’s invitation to sit on the board of regents for the British Museum.  When talk turned to my time stateside, it centered mostly on my father’s health and passing, and the Hiddleston women were all warm and generous when offering their condolences. 

“Tom, how fortunate that you could be there,” Diana reached for his hand.  “Not only for Michelle’s sake but for Jonathon’s as well.  I know you were fond of the man.”  It took me a second to realize she was speaking about my dad – I don’t think I’d ever heard anyone, save my own mother, use his given name. 

“It was fortunate,” Tom nodded, squeezing her fingers while placing his other hand over mine.  “Not just because I got the chance to say goodbye, but because Michelle and I were able to receive his blessing.  Together.”  His eyes were full of love and pride as I laced my fingers through his.

“Blessing?”  Sarah’s voice was carefully neutral.

“Yes.”  Tom looked at her steadily for a moment before turning back to his mother.  “Mum, Michelle’s agreed to be my wife.”

Emma nearly knocked her chair over springing from it, her squeal of delight piercing the air as she rounded the table to hug me around the neck.  “I knew it!  I knew it!”

There were more hugs, a few tears, much cooing over the ring, and more than a few rounds of Tom’s mirth-filled “Eheheheheheh”.  He and Emma shooed the rest of us from the table as they set about clearing and washing; Diana excused herself for a call of nature.  I found myself sitting alone on the sofa under Sarah’s pointed gaze.  I kept my chin up, determined to bear whatever came.

“He loves you,” she spoke at last.

I met her eye squarely.  “I know he does.”

“No, he _really_ loves you,” she pressed.  “He’s never been this way with anybody else before.  I certainly never expected him to propose marriage to anyone, given his experience with and impression of the institution, you know what I mean?”

“I know, Sarah,” I tried to reassure her.  “And I never expected him to propose.  Not so soon, anyway.”  Her brow quirked a bit, and I swallowed before continuing.  “But I never would have said ‘yes’ unless I understood what it meant to him, what kind of promise I’d be making.”  I allowed myself a breath before continuing.  “I intend to keep it.  For the rest of my life.”

“You sure about that?”  Her voice was cool, but not cruel.  “No running back to the U.S. every time the road gets rough or things become hard to handle or you just don’t get your way?”

“Of course not,” I managed, but only in a whisper.

“You’d better be sure.”  She crossed the room to sit straight-backed next to me.  “I don’t know what happened, Michelle, and I don’t need to know.  None of my business anyway, really.  But I do know this.  And you need to know this: your leaving nearly killed him.  He thinks nobody knows.  He thinks nobody saw.  But I know my little brother.  I see my little brother.  All he did was work and drink.  He was lucky the work required him to play a man who was half monster, on the stage, in front of the camera. Parts that allowed him to seethe and rage.  If he’d been playing the part of lovesick hero or idealistic crusader he’d have been lost.  He let himself go on international broadcast stuttering drunk with a beer in his hand, for God’s sake!”  She saw the tears that were pooling in my eyes and she took me gently by the shoulders.  “Michelle,” her anger had melted into plea.  “You can’t ever run from him again.”

“I won’t,” I assured her as she pulled me into her arms.  “I promise you, Sarah… I promise _him_.”  We hugged one another tightly, and I could hear from her sniffles that she was swallowing tears as well.

“What on earth is going on in here?”  Tom’s voice from behind us, playful but edged with concern, and we parted, each offering the other a silent, knowing smile.   “Sarah?”  He pressed, suspicious.  “What are you up to?”

“Welcoming my new sister into the fold, Goldilocks,” she harrumphed.  “Mind your business.”

Tom edged his body onto the sofa behind mine, wrapping his arms around me and hooking his chin over my shoulder.  “Your new sister _is_ my business,” he growled before craning his neck to meet my eye.  “Is she behaving herself, love?”

“She’s behaving herself,” I nodded, dropping her a silent wink and receiving one in kind.

We were heading to the car after tea and dessert when Tom’s cellular chimed from his pocket, and his face split in a huge grin, his tongue caught between his teeth.  “What?” I couldn’t help but giggle.  He held the phone out to me, and I took it.

_“Em’s been blowing up this damned contraption all night.  ‘Tom’s got news! Tom’s got news!  You must call Tom! Such big news!’  Why not come by for a drink? If it’s not too late for you…”_

I was grinning myself until I saw the sender ID.  Tom’s father.  I actually stumbled a step before recovering.  _Great…_

“What do you think, love?” He shed excitement like a puppy as he opened my door for me.  “You’re not too tired, are you?  It’s only a twenty minute drive or so…”

I didn’t have the heart to refuse.  My thumbnail took its place between my teeth and I gazed anxiously out at the passing London night as Tom called his father to announce we were on our way.  We were just turning onto his residential street when Tom reached for me.  “Hey, sweet,” his voice was gentle.  “Where did you go?”

I pushed all the love I had for him into the smile I offered.  “I’m here,” I assured him, leaning into the palm that caressed my cheek. 

“She didn’t go too hard on you, did she?”  He asked.  “Sarah?”

“Oh, no,” I shook my head firmly.  “I mean, she gave me a little what for for rabbiting,” I shrugged.  “But I deserved a little what for, don’t you agree?”

His thumb traced over my lips, and I nibbled at the tip.  “I love you so much,” he murmured, easing the car into his father’s driveway.

“I love you, too, Tom.”

James’ home was handsomely masculine, if a bit oppressive, hues of green and brown and burgundy.  He led us into a formal study with tall, leather wingback chairs and a head-spinning array of books lining the walls.  The Baccarat tumblers were soon filled with cinnamon brandy.  You couldn’t have painted more perfect a picture with brush and canvas, and James seemed to know it.  I felt incredibly small, sinking into my chair and trying to sip courage from my glass.

“So,” he cleared his throat, crossing his legs and zeroing his focus on his only son.  “What’s this news your little sister’s been chirping on about?”

Tom sat a bit straighter, squaring his shoulders and smiling at me with no small amount of pride.  “Well… Dad… my beautiful Michelle here… she’s agreed to marry me.”

“Well,” James offered a broad smile that didn’t quite completely penetrate his eyes.  “Isn’t that wonderful?  Not really a surprise… it was quite clear you were smitten from the go…”

“Yes,” Tom nodded, a bit sheepishly.  “I’ve been quite deeply smitten for some time now.”  The two men laughed, and I allowed myself to relax a little.

“Well, a proper toast then?”  James lifted his tumbler a bit.  “To my son, Thomas, and his lovely bride to be,” he dropped me a pert little nod.  “Health and happiness.”

“And to you, sir,” Tom finished, me parroting only a second behind him.  We drank, and I closed my eyes at the comforting burn.  “Dad… I’ve got to say,” Tom set his glass down, his palms rubbing his thighs, the corners of his mouth turned in an unflagging grin.  “Thank you.”

“Hm?” James sniffed regally above his own drink.

“No, seriously,” Tom pressed.  “Thank you.  I… I was keyed up to tell you, sure, but I must admit, I was all prepared for a proper lecture.  You know, it being so quick and all…”

“Yes, well,” James took another swallow.  “It certainly helps that the shotgun scenario is not a viable one here.”

I had to slip a second shaking hand under my glass to keep from dropping it as I felt the wind knocked out of my lungs.  I watched Tom’s color drain a little over a halting laugh as he tried to register the comment.  “I… I’m sorry, Dad… what?”

“Oh,” the man at least had the decency to look a shade self-conscious at his choice of words.  “You know how the whispers and gossip can fly about a man in your business, especially one whose career has blossomed as yours has of late.”  He smiled magnanimously, as if he were offering a compliment.  “At least no one can accuse you of rushing in order to accommodate a mistake of hasty passion,” his gaze shifted to me.  “Or you of looking to secure a cut of Thomas’ future earnings.”

My rage might have boiled over at that particular moment.  It would have, had I not turned to see Tom’s rising to meet it.  “How dare you speak to her like that?” He seethed, his tone low, dangerous.  “Apologize.  At once.”

James blanched, his eyes widening a bit.  “I’m sorry if you misunderstand me, Thomas.  But you must admit, the fact that she’s barren certainly offers your reputations a bit of protection…”

“I’ll admit no such thing,” Tom slammed his glass to the table as he shot to full height from his chair.  “How dare you speak like this about her, in front of her… you’ve no right… no right at all… and I demand you apologize and beg her forgiveness immediately.”

“I will apologize, my dear,” James turned to me with a cool professionalism I suddenly knew was no more genuine than the cut glass of the diamond-shaped paperweight that sat on the desk in the corner.  “For broaching a delicate subject at a less than appropriate time.”  He looked down at me a bit sternly.  “But you can’t say you didn’t know my mind with regard to a wife’s responsibility to her husband, and to the name he gives her.”

Tom turned to me with narrowed eyes.  “What’s he talking about?”

“Christmas,” I answered, my voice flat and hollow. “We were looking at your baby pictures.  Well, I was looking at your baby pictures.  Your father, it seems, was bemoaning the thought of your being with a woman incapable of bearing proper Hiddleston progeny.”  I watched the wheels turning behind his eyes, the understanding that began to dawn. 

He turned on his father once more, slowly.  “You… how could you…I can’t believe you,” he muttered.  “To be so… presumptuous.  Callous, and cruel.  And to speak of responsibility?  Particularly the responsibility of one spouse to another?”   His voice began to rise, ever so slightly.  “You?  You had a proper wife, a wife who loved you, a wife who did her duty to her husband and to the name he gave her! You had proper Hiddleston progeny!   Two beautiful daughters, a son who would have done anything to make you proud!”  Tears of anger had begun to leak from his eyes.  “And what did you do with it all, Dad?” He demanded.  “What did you do with it all?”

James, clearly unprepared for the wrath Tom was spilling, rose from his seat as smoothly as he was able.  “You’re quite irrational at the moment, Thomas, and I simply will not be spoken to in such a way…”

“You threw it all away!” Tom shouted, moving to block the doorway before his father could step towards it.  “You tried on our life and you found it ill-fitting!  So you tossed it aside… like a poorly cut suit.  You shuffled us off to boarding school and you stripped mum’s life to shreds.  And then you left!  Left to live a life where you could work when you wanted, sleep when you wanted, drink when you wanted _, fuck_ when you wanted…”

**_“THOMAS!”_**   James roared, his face so red I feared I was about to have another stroke victim on my hands.

**_“I KNEW ABOUT HER, DAD!”_ **

Time seemed to stand still as father and son stared each other down from across the room.  “I knew about her,” he sobbed again.  “Mum, never knew… Sarah… Em… But I knew.  I was twelve, and I knew.  The way she touched you at the dinner parties… her voice on the phone… you brought her to our house, Dad.  I could smell her perfume on the sofa cushions in the living room.  I knew… and you knew I knew.” He lifted his chin a defiant notch.  “And that’s why I had to go first.”

My eyes flicked from Tom, to James, and back again, and the glass finally fell from my hands, the amber liquor darkening the forest green of the rug.  I rushed to Tom’s side, winding my arms around him.  “Oh, my God,” I breathed softly into his chest as he lay his cheek against the top of my head.  “Oh, my God, Tom… I’m so, so sorry…”

James stood staring at us, utterly dyspeptic, uncertain of where to look or what to say.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tom swiped a hand over his cheeks before lifting my face to his, smiling sadly into my eyes before kissing me tenderly.  “It doesn’t matter.”  He returned his gaze to his father’s grimace.  “I’m sorry for you, you know that?” He coughed hoarsely.  “I’m sorry you keep yourself out of this, above this… I’m sorry you’re the only one who understands how truly unworthy of it you are.  You’re the one who loses.”  He lay his palm low over my belly, looking pointedly into his father’s eyes.  “You’re the one who’s hollow.”

“Thomas…”

If there had been one note of kindness in that word, I might have melted on the spot.  But there wasn’t; there was only weary fatigue and defensive exasperation.  I flashed my eyes at the man, a silent warning that, thankfully, he did not ignore.  Letting Tom lean heavily against me, I ushered him out the door, down the hall, and into the slowly cooling spring night.


	30. Chapter 30

Tom didn’t say a word the entire ride home; he simply stared out at the fog beginning to collect along the roadside.  I didn’t push, knowing that he needed time to process what had happened, and that I needed to focus on my driving, which still tended to drift to the right if I wasn’t paying attention.  I managed to get us home safely, and he offered me a weak smile of gratitude as I tucked myself under his arm, hugging him as we climbed the steps to the front door.  Once inside, he caressed my cheek, pressed a kiss to my forehead, then trudged silently up towards the bedroom. 

 He was sitting on the corner of the bed, his shoulders slumped, when I followed behind a few moments later with decanter and tumbler in hand.  I set them on the dresser, then retrieved his suit jacket and tie from where he had tossed them to the floor. I draped them over his valet stand, then poured several fingers of the scotch into the glass.  Slipping out of my heels, I padded quietly across the floor, then sank slowly to the carpet in front of him.  He accepted the drink with another small smile, and I lay my cheek against his knee.  He took a deep swallow, then traced a fingertip along my jaw.  “Are you all right?” I asked gently.

He nodded, still looking boyish and lost.  His hand wandered up the side of my neck, his fingers finding the onyx clip that held the thick twist of my hair in place and pinching it open.  I shook my head, and his smile broadened a little as my still damp locks tumbled down around my shoulders.  The soft perfume of orchid and amber filled the air, and he combed his long fingers through the waves.  “Lovely,” he complimented, and I shivered, feeling my cheeks pink.  He exhaled a small laugh through his nose before taking another drink.  “Michelle, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Tom… no,” I hugged myself to his leg.  “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Wh…” he choked a bit, and took another sip.  “Why didn’t you tell me… what he’d said to you before?”

I swallowed guiltily.  “It… we…” I sighed in misery.  “Everything else had gone so well… you were just so happy that night…”

“Yes, but darling,” the pain on his face was nearly unbearable.  “It was because of a lie…”  I couldn’t hold back a tiny sob, but Tom caught my shoulders before I could pull away.

“Michelle, sweetheart, I’m not angry with you.”  I narrowed my eyes, and he pursed his lips briefly.  “I mean, I am… a little.  You should have told me straightaway,” he scolded gently.  “If I’d known… that he’d said such things to you… that you were carrying that around inside you, on top of everything else,” he paused for a hitching breath.  “I never would have sprung my proposal on you the way I did.”  My mouth twisted in a disheartened moue, and he released my shoulders to cup my face in his hands instead.  “I’m not saying I wouldn’t have proposed at all,” he reassured me.  “But I’d certainly have been… more sensitive… to your reservations.” 

I let his words sink in, resting my head against his thigh as he smoothed his hand over my scrunched forehead.  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.  “I should have told you.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he murmured.  “Obviously there are… things… I never told you.”  His face began to crumble and I rose up on my knees, drawing him into my arms.  His tears fell hot and bitter against my neck as he clung to me, and I stroked his hair and his back as I rocked him gently, kissing his temple and murmuring into his ear how much I loved him. 

After a few long moments his sobbing subsided, and I moved to rise, intending to help him up and into bed.  But he grabbed at me desperately, knocking me off balance and tumbling us both to the floor.  “Tom,” I half gasped, half giggled.  “What on earth…”

The look in his eyes was almost feral as he grabbed the back of my neck and crashed his mouth against mine, wrestling me to my back beneath him as if he expected me to resist.  I responded to his kiss as best I could, but he was like a man possessed, lips and teeth and tongue devouring me hungrily as his hands pushed frantically at my skirt.  “Tom…” I tried breathlessly to lift myself up on my elbows when he finally released me, but he pinned me beneath him, his fingers groping at the elastic cuffs of my thigh-high stockings, tearing at the flimsy silk of my panties. 

“Please, Michelle,” he moaned brokenly.  “Please… please let me…”

“Of course… Tom… of course.”  Again I tried to rise, only to have him push me back down.  “Sweetie… wouldn’t you rather… the bed…”  He shook his head wildly and I felt the delicate scrap of fabric between my legs give at the seams, heard his grunt of relief when he found my body wet and willing.  My back bowed against the floor as he pushed roughly up inside me, two fingers driving as deeply as he could reach. “Oh, God…”

“Yes, love, yes,” he urged hoarsely, lifting his body to brace one hard muscled thigh against his hand.  “Oh, God, Michelle, I love you,” he rasped, his mouth inches from mine as he thrust mercilessly against my g-spot.  “I love you so much… “His free hand dragged at the neckline of my dress; I somehow managed to wriggle it over my head and cast it aside.  Tom didn’t even bother with the clasp on my bra, simply yanking the lacy cups aside to bare my nipples to his mouth.  The nibbling of his teeth made me hitch and cry out, my muscles clenching around him as my hips rolled of their own accord.  “That’s it,” he encouraged, circling the tip of his tongue around my areola.  “Fuck my fingers, little one.”  I pushed into his touch once more, crying out at the biting twinge the pressure created, savoring his growl of approval. 

He hovered above me as I rocked, his eyes boring into mine.  “That’s my girl… oh, Michelle, my sweet little minx.  I‘m going to make you come so hard, love, so hard.  You’re going to gush all over my fingers, do you understand?”  I nodded, whimpering low in my throat, desperate to give him whatever he needed from me in that moment.  “You’re going to gush all over me like a good little girl.  And then, I’ll give you my cock.”  He lay his weight on me, his mouth close to my ear, the timbre of his voice so husky it rattled in my brain.  “I’m going to fuck you so well, Michelle… so deep… you’ll be feeling me for days, love.  Every time you walk.  Every time you sit.  Every time you try to stand straight.”  His teeth closed on my earlobe as he pumped his fingers, harder, harder, stretching my walls until the delicious burn radiated all the way up to the center of my chest. 

It slowly became more and more difficult to keep pace with him, the air tearing in and out of my lungs in ragged gasps, every muscle in my legs trembling and twitching of their own accord.  “It’s all right, sweet,” his voice suddenly so calm, so soothing.  “Just let go.  I’ve got you, Michelle… you’re mine… and it’s all right… let go… please, darling… trust me.”

I did trust him.  Closing my eyes, I went limp against the carpet with a sigh that was nearly relief.  Tom sealed his mouth over mine in a rewarding kiss, biting softly at my bottom lip.  His thumb began to draw tight, wet circles around my hardened clit, and my body arched whorishly as the coil of my orgasm tightened that last exquisite notch that always comes before the release.  He rose up above me then, pressing his palm against my lower abdomen until the intensity of the pleasure dragged me under with a brutal yank.  His groans of delight were drowned out by my screams; I could feel the tide that rushed out of me splashing down over my thighs, soaking his hand, the cuff and sleeve of his shirt, the leg of his trousers.  I convulsed violently once, twice, and then I was floating, warm and hazy as his lips soothed over my cheeks, my forehead, the angle of my jaw. 

I vaguely registered the clink of metal, the whisper of his zipper, and then his mouth close to my ear.  “Are you ready for me, love?”  I couldn’t answer, not right away.  Tom was patient, stroking his cock lazily in his fist, drawing wet streaks across my belly with his leaking tip until my tongue unglued itself from the roof of my mouth.

“T-t-tom…”

“Are you with me, love?” The kiss on my cheek was almost chaste.

“I’m here…”

“Are you ready for me?”

I drew my leg up over his still-dressed hip.  “Fuck me, Tom,” I begged weakly.  His teeth closed on my neck, and he filled me to the hilt as he began to suck. 

He poured every ounce of sadness and regret and frustration into every savage thrust of his hips, a desperate attempt to grudge-fuck his way out of his anger.  Even in the mists of my ecstasy I knew it wouldn’t be enough.  But I knew it was a start.  So I wound my arms around him and held on tight, breathing him in in waves of cedarwood and scotch, exhaling words of love, and please, and yes, and oh, God, don’t stop.  He rose up above me when he came, his gaze drawn to the vee where our bodies joined, as if visualizing the way he filled me in hot, thick spurts before collapsing, boneless, in my embrace.

Later, as we lay in bed together, his palm pressed to my belly where a womb should be.  His eyes were sad and silent, and I swallowed the salt in the back of my throat.  “It’s okay, Tom,” I stroked his cheek.  “We have to talk about it.  Eventually.”

He gave a small nod, then a long pause.  “It’s doesn’t matter to me that you can’t get pregnant,” he said at last.  “I never would have put that ring on your finger if it did.”

I smiled at him with my own measure of sadness.  “I believe you.”

“You do?” He scrutinized my face.  “You honestly do?”

“Yes, Tom,” I assured him.  “You had your chance to cut and run.  You had your chance to take us back to square one.  The fact that you didn’t?”  I trailed off, using my thumb to absently spin the ring on my finger.  “I know it’s not a deal-breaker.”

His eyes narrowed a bit.  “That’s not overwhelming confidence I hear.”

“I don’t think it’s going to split us up,” I sighed.  “But I think its set us up for some pretty fucking miserable nights to come.”  He was shaking his head, and I placed a tender hand over his mouth before he could interrupt me.  “You want to be a father.”  He shrugged, and again opened his mouth.  I renewed the pressure from my fingertips to keep him silent.  “You want to be a father.”

He met my gaze to let me know he was listening, taking me seriously.  Then he caught my wrist and, after placing a sweet kiss to my knuckles, pulled my hand away.  “Not right now.”  I prepared my retort; it was his turn to shush me.  “Not. Right. Now.  Michelle, I’ve got more offers coming my way now than I’ve ever had in my entire career _combined_.  _Good_ offers, _amazing_ offers.  They’re going to take us all over the world!  We’re going to be surrounded by the most fascinating people!  There’s going to be music and art, drama, laughter,” he cocked that infernal right eyebrow, “at least one more romp with the God of Mischief.”  I giggled a little, and he kissed my hand again.  “I want this, love.  I’ve worked my ass off for this.  I’m not going to miss a moment of it, and neither are you.  Darling, it wouldn’t be fair to bring a child into the middle of all that.”  I nodded in understanding, but he continued.  “Besides,” he pulled back the bedsheet to expose my naked torso.  “I like having you all to myself.  My sweet Michelle.”  I sank back into my pillow with another giggle as he crawled above me.  “My beautiful girl… my brilliant fiancée. My naughty little minx.  My sweet little sub, my delicious little fucktoy.” 

I squealed as he buried his face in my neck, biting playfully at the hollow beneath my ear.  He slid his arms under me to hold me close, and I kissed his forehead.  But the icy sliver in my belly shifted once more, as it always did.  “What happens when that’s not enough anymore?”

There was genuine displeasure in the eyes that looked up at me from where he was kissing along my collarbone.  “It will never be not enough.”

I tried to nod, but my stubborn realist nature won out, as it usually did.  “But what if it is, one day?  What if the work slows down, and the sex turns bland, and life doesn’t look anything like it does today…”

“Jesus,” he grumbled, shifting against me but not pulling entirely away.  “This annoying self-doubt of yours really makes me want to put you over my knee, you do know that, right?”

“I’ll go over your knee,” I pouted.  “Happily.  You know that!  But Tom,” I nudged him with my elbow.  “I need to talk about this.  You have to let me talk about this! I know you don’t agree with my feelings but they are my feelings.  They’re real, and they matter!  And I know you love me, and I know you want to reassure me, and you do!  But there isn’t anything that’s going to change the fact that I cannot give you a biological child of your own.  I can’t!”  A curious expression passed over his face, a kind of hopeful uncertainty.  “What?”

“Well, darling,” he caught his lower lip between his teeth, “that’s not exactly true, now, is it?”  I froze, forcing my expression to remain blank.  “You can’t _carry_ a child of our own…”

My heart nearly stopped in my chest.  “You can’t be serious.”  The quirk of his brow told me that, yes, in fact, he was quite serious.  “No.”

“What?” He blanched, shocked.  “No?”

“Come on, Tom,” I tried to keep the whine out of my voice.  “Turn our sex life into a science experiment? One that would turn our entire life upside down and then most likely fail?  Hormone injections that make PMS look like a fucking day at Disneyland?  Forced abstinence for weeks, maybe months at a time?  You jerking off into a plastic cup in some sterilized doctor’s office?”

He grinned lasciviously.  “You could jerk me off into that plastic cup…”

“I’m being serious, Tom.”  I shifted away from him in irritation. 

“I know you are, my love,” he scooted closer and kissed me noisily behind my ear.  “And you’ve given yourself away.” I glared at him, but he only laughed gently.  “You know the process, love.  The ins and outs, the ups and downs.  Which means you’ve done your research.  Which you wouldn’t have done, if you weren’t, at one point, at least considering it…”

“Shut up,” I scrunched lower against the pillow, holding a warning finger between us as I tried unsuccessfully to put some distance between our bodies.  “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He blinked innocently, still bearing down on me.

“That… that whole ‘I know you better than you know yourself, darling’.” I mimicked.  “I hate it when you do that.”

“Excellent impression of me, love,” he chuckled.

“Shut up, Tom,” I planted my hands against his chest, trying to push him away.  “I’m not joking.  I really do hate it.”

“But darling,” he pulled the most infuriatingly adorable puppy dog eyes.  “Don’t I?  Know you better than you know yourself, from time to time?”

I wanted to resist him.  I honestly did.  But the bastard was right.  As usual.  I let the pressure of his body overpower the resistance in my arms, and shuddered at the primal pleasure it gave me to welcome the weight of him against me.  He was murmuring sweet endearments as he kissed his way along my neck.  “You’d be asking me to let a piece of you grow inside another woman.”

“No other woman will ever mean to me what you do.”

“Yeah,” I pouted.  “You might feel differently after watching some other woman push your hard won pride and joy out her vag.”

He rose up to look down on me, his expression quite put-upon.  “Are you trying to kill my hard-on?”

I mirrored his look with my own.  “I’m trying to get you to take me seriously.”

“I’m taking you seriously, love,” he assured me.  “Strong opinions about in vitro and surrogacy.  Mostly negative ones.”  He brushed my hair back from my forehead.  “I know what I’m getting myself into here, love.”

I took his face in my hands, desperately searching his eyes.  “Are you sure?”

He cocked his head, his eyes slightly darker.  “Are you wearing my ring?”

I sighed.  “Yes.”

“Am I sure, Michelle?”

As terrifying as it was, I could actually see it.  “Yes.”

“Tell me, Michelle.”

I shuddered as I felt his undiscouraged erection rubbing against my thigh.  “I’m yours, Tom.”

“And?”

I traced a fingertip over the bow of his mouth.  “You’re mine.”

His smile, as ever, my salvation.  “Again.”

I only lost the rhythm for a moment when he slid home, guiding my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist.  “I’m yours, Tom, and you’re mine.  I’m yours… yours… yours…”


	31. Chapter 31

_We’re both in bed right now.  You’re asleep, and I’m awake, thinking of you._

_I fucking miss you._

_You’re asleep.   I can actually see you.  You’ve moved to the middle of the bed, your arms wrapped around my pillow, your face hidden by the unruly beauty of your hair.  The sheet is wound around my t-shirt, one you snuck from my drawer because you miss me as well.  But your left leg is bare, kicked free from the covers like always.  If I were next to you, you’d wake me by slipping those icy cold toes under my calf or behind my knee.  I’d wake you by sliding my hand between your legs, tickling your sweet little clit with the tips of my fingers, coaxing it to come out and play.  I’d have you shaking from head to toe before your eyes were even fully open._

_I miss hearing you moan my name in person._

_You’re asleep.  You won’t get this for a couple of hours. It’ll be longer than that before I’ll be able to sneak away and read your reply. Skype tonight.  I need to see you._

_I’ll never be able to thank you for this time, never in the way you deserve.  I know it hurt you when I asked, even though you understood why.  I know it scared you… no… fuck that.  I know it terrified you. And yet, you let me go.  So brave, Michelle, so beautifully brave.  So now I lay here, in this fucking empty king-sized bed in this fucking empty hotel room.  I know I needed to do what I’ve done.  I know I needed the space and the silence.  But… maybe not this much.  And now that I’ve clawed and scraped my way through some of my own self-doubt, all that I can think about is what’s waiting for me on the other side, the thing I fought my way through to get to._

_It’s all you._

_I see your face behind my eyelids, hear your voice in the pulse in my ears, feel your breath in the air on my skin.   In an hour, I’ll push myself up and out, lose myself in the work, and it’ll carry me until you’re on my screen, just beyond my touch.  But right now, I’m hard, and I’m lonely, and I’ve no one to blame but myself._

_I know you want me to take the time, all of it.  But I honestly don’t know if I can bear it.  I meant what I said on the phone last night.  I genuinely do feel better.  More certain.  More myself.  And you’re right; there’s no escaping the shadow I grew up under, not really.  There’s only the trying to understand it, to define it, without letting it define me.  It’s part of me; it’s made me the man I am._

_The man you love._

_Thank you for loving me.  For letting me have the control that I need by trusting me enough to surrender me yours.  For making my weakness your strength.  For loving me in spite of it, and because of it. For letting me have my darkness and doubt.   For being the light that leads me out of it._

_You’re my very breath, Michelle._

_Eight weeks, two days.  So close, and yet so far away._

_I love you.  Never doubt it, never forget it.  I love you.  You’re mine.  I’m yours, and you’re mine._

I’d read it at least a dozen times, lying in bed; the email that had been waiting for me when I’d dragged myself out of sleep and flipped open my screen.  I’d smiled a little, cried a lot, smiled a little more.

Tom had been in Ireland for almost a month, and I missed him desperately. Much as I’d like to say that it was, it really wasn’t a surprise when, three days before we were scheduled to leave for the Bangor set together, he’d sat me down and told me he thought it best that he go, at least for the first push, alone.  The days after his confrontation with his father had been fraught with tension, and our lives had become little more than a series of intense emotional discussions where he tried desperately to figure out how much of his life was the result of programming, how much the result of direct rebellion against expectation, and how much the result of honest, independent choice.  I tried, time and time again, to tell him that it didn’t matter, at least not to me, one way or the other.  That I didn’t care how his bits and pieces had come together, that all I cared about was that I loved them, loved him.  But the words, whether spoken in calm, sweet tones or screamed in desperate, threadbare shouts, didn’t seem to help.

We would always reconnect at the end of the day, climbing into bed, into each other’s arms.  But even that was… different.  He was tamer, less demanding, driven by a gentle tenderness that, while absolutely heartfelt and genuine, seemed to me horribly misguided.  It was like he was trying to be the lover he assumed I _should_ want, without bothering to ask if it was what I really _did_ want.  Knowing my body the way he did, he never failed to bring us both off, providing the physical release we both needed.  But afterwards, lying in his arms in the dark in the moments before sleep took me, I couldn’t help but mourn the loss of that sensual, secret thing that had bonded us so tightly together. 

On top of every other emotional rollercoaster we’d been riding out, the deadline for my first draft was rapidly approaching, and I’d gone days without spending any time on the manuscript.  So when Tom asked for some time and distance to try and wrap his head around where he was, I forced myself to concede.  My acquiescence was met first with uncertainty, then sad gratitude.  We spent the next sixty-two hours closed off from the rest of the world: no phones, no computers, no visitors.  Just two halves of a whole preparing to face the life we shared alone.  And when it was over, I packed Tom up and I let him go.

We both promptly hurled ourselves headfirst into work.  I cranked out close to a hundred pages in a marathon stretch while Tom settled into his new breakneck filming schedule.  He hit a stopping point before I did, and when his calls and texts went unanswered, he reached out to Emma. 

Sweet Emma.  We’d grown quite close since my return to London, her incessantly excited nature winning me over on every front.  There didn’t seem to be any situation she couldn’t handle with a wink and a smile, a quiet word and a gentle hug.  Helping me shop for my trousseau, teaching me Diana’s recipe for Yorkshire pudding, lifting her brother’s spirits with her twittering chatter when I simply couldn’t bear the weight of his sorrow alone.  For the first time in years, her presence made me think about my own lost sibling, and I couldn’t help but wonder if they might have had a few things in common.

She used her copy of our key to let herself in, and after scolding me for making the two of them worry, called Tom from the living room as I continued to tick away in the study.  Snippets of her side of the conversation floated to my ears on the acoustics of our first floor: “You should see her, Tom, she’s really in the zone… Yes, I’ll make certain she eats… She doesn’t look angry, Tom, she just looks busy… I’m thinking it’s a good thing for you two to miss each other a bit.”

She was in the kitchen when my back and bladder finally demanded I leave my chair, chicken sizzling on the stovetop as she tossed a green salad.  “You know,” I pushed my hair back from my face sheepishly.  “A sandwich would have been more than enough…”

She spent that night in our guest room, and a few here and there after that.  She was boiling the kettle when I sobbed my way through writing of my father’s death, and she was playing a game on her mobile when I finally clicked the “send” icon and snapped the laptop closed with a sigh.  “You’re finished?”

I nodded.  “For now.  There are things they’re going to kick back – they’re always pushing me to share more about Tom – and even I know I bullshitted my way through the last ten pages.  But they wanted a draft, and they got a draft,” I glanced at the wall clock.  “With three hours and thirty-seven minutes to spare.”

I’d expected her to offer congratulations, maybe pester to read a few pages.  So I jumped in my chair a bit as she bounced to her feet with a shrill cat-call.  “Girl’s night!”

She practically had to drag me into the shower, and I was more than a little chagrined to find a dress and heels already waiting for me when I stepped out.  But the drinks and the dancing with her friends from Soho turned out to be exactly what I needed, and after she left me safe at home and more than a little tipsy, I’d stumbled my way to the bedroom, laptop in tow.  Tom answered the Skype bare-chested in pajama trousers which disappeared quickly when I fired up Joe Cocker and proceeded to offer him my finest striptease with our bed as the stage.  We had our first laughing orgasms together that night, and the vise around my heart loosened for the first time since he’d left. 

We found a rhythm after that, sleep, work, phone or Skype, sleep again.  We’d talk about work, about his friends on the set, about his slowly healing heart.  Every once in a while, I’d think about asking him if he thought he might have a break  and be able to pop home  anytime soon.  Every once in a while, I’d be certain he was about to ask me to come to him.  Neither ever happened, but it was all right.  Better than all right.  We’d known all along, given the nature of Tom’s career, that there would be stretches of time where separation would be unavoidable.  It was nice to know we’d be able to survive them.  And then I opened my computer to that beautiful letter.

That’s probably where I should have stopped.

Of course, I didn’t.  I missed him.  And I was so proud of him, putting himself out to the world day after day, when it would have been easy, even normal, for him to cloister himself away when his on-set obligations were fulfilled.  Besides, I loved seeing him the way his fans saw him, loved watching them get a thrill from his sharing a little piece of himself that was so easy to give, yet meant so much to them.  I was even getting used to seeing the snaps of the mothers that brought their children.

I clicked through the Twitter feeds, the _High Rise_ pages, smiling at selfie after selfie.  I was even amused to see that the AP had picked up a shot and a snippet submitted to the _Spectator_ by an entertainment reported who had popped by the set with a friend.  Especially when I saw my name in the short paragraph.

_“Most people outside of Bangor, Ireland have never heard of Bangor, Ireland.  But our happy little corner of the world is fast gaining status as filming continues locally for director Ben Wheatley’s upcoming flick “High Rise”.  Pictured above with an obviously awestruck young admirer is the film’s star, “Avengers” baddie and certified Eurohunk Tom Hiddleston.  Hiddleston, known to his fanbase as an unusually kind and approachable soul, is living up to that reputation with ease, prowling the set boundaries daily, offering photo ops and autographs.  Rumor has it, however, that at least one area of his availability may be soon coming to an end.  It seems the sexy Brit is planning to take the plunge into married life with American freelance journalist Michelle O’Shea.  While there has been no official confirmation from Hiddles’ camp, there’s barely been time in the last nine months where these two couldn’t be linked, and several photos from the wrap party for Tom’s last project include him and O’Shea cuddly close with her sporting one heck of an impressive sparkler on a telltale finger.  Hearts all over the world are sure to break, but folks can certainly have fun betting on how long it takes before O’Shea is spotted with a belly bump.  Pics of Hiddles and Baby Hiddles?  There might not be enough internet to go ‘round.”_

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I whimpered out loud, slamming the computer closed and curling around Tom’s pillow.  I glanced at the clock, fighting back tears.  “Fuck!”  It would be at least three hours before Tom would have any kind of a break, and even then, he’d still be on set, surrounded by cast and crew.  Not the best time and place to try and help navigate a distraught fiancée through an emotional minefield, especially while he was still somewhat stuck in one of his own.  I could feel my bottom lip trembling, my eyes spilling over. 

_This is never going to go away…_

That was the thought that tipped the scales, and I stopped fighting the descent.  I drew the sheets up over my head, and let my imagination turn the screws.  No checking dates on the calendar.  No fucking like rabbits because the timing was right.  No anxiously watching a clock while waiting for a little pink plus sign.  No rushing to the bathroom because my little guest decided to send back that last meal.  I would never feel Tom wrap his large, strong hands around my swelling belly, never watch him coo or hum against my navel.  His eyes would never light up when he felt the life he helped create push back at him from the inside.  No “Honey, it’s time,” no hectic race to the hospital.  He would never hold my hand while I strained and screamed, never kiss my sweaty brow.  No happy crow from the doctor, no cutting of the cord.  Whatever other options might be out there for us to explore, those things were gone.  And nothing could bring them back. 

I gave myself to my hysteria, the irony not lost on me, ignoring the doorbell, the ringing of my phone.  So when a gentle hand pulled back the sheet, I gasped in surprise.

“Michelle?” Emma’s features were pinched with worry.  “My God… are you okay?”

I didn’t even make an attempt a pretense.  I just shook my head, turning my sopping face into the pillow.  “Michelle,” I could hear the tears rising in her voice, and that made me sob all the harder.  “Oh, Michelle…”  I felt the bed sink under her weight, and then she was lying next to me, pulling me into her arms.  “Please don’t cry,” she begged softly, stroking my hair, my back.  “Please tell me what’s wrong.  Is it Tom?  Are you missing him… did you have a fight?”

“No,” I managed to croak. 

“Is it…” she groped weakly.  “Something with the book?”  I shook my head again, and she swallowed miserably.  “Please Michelle,” she implored me.  “Tell me… what’s the matter?”

I turned my face up to hers.  “I want his baby, Em.”

“Oh, Michelle,” her tears began to flow in earnest, and we clung to one another like children cowering from a thunderstorm.  “I know you do.  I’m so sorry… so, so, so sorry.”

“It’s not fair,” I wailed, indulging in the very histrionics I’d always told myself I’d avoid.  “It’s not fucking fair!”

“I know it’s not… I know…”

Once I’d started, I couldn’t stop.  The wound had been lanced, and I let every ugly, scary, bitter thing that had festered inside flow like the tide.  Some things I said with cold disconnection, some things I bawled with all the resentment of a spoiled child.  Every fear, every insecurity.  Would I be enough?  Could I be enough?  Was I being selfish, unfair?  “I know he’d never leave me, Em,” I spoke with a tremble in my voice.  “And that almost makes it worse.  Because… be-because…”  My hiccupping breaths cut off my words, and Emma took the opportunity to squeeze my hands in a grip almost painful.

“You stop that,” she insisted.  “Right now.”  I thought she meant to comfort, but her voice had an edge, her gaze held just a bit of coldness.  “Someone tells you they’re willing to make a sacrifice for you because they love you so much…”  She shook her head abruptly.  “You don’t get to turn that into a weakness.”

“I…” I hitched in a desperately needed breath of air.  “I didn’t mean to…”

“Maybe you didn’t mean to,” her gaze bore into mine.  “But you did.  Tom is willing to put his love for you over his desire to easily build a family, and you somehow think that makes your position worse?”  She smiled suddenly, very small, but genuine.  “No.  You’re not that selfish.  You’ll hide behind it, because it’s really scary when someone wants to do something so enormously wonderful for you, something you’re certain you could never pay back.”  She lay her forehead against mine.  “Let my brother do this for you, Michelle.  Love him, marry him, live with him forever.  And you’ll be even.”  Her blue eyes, so like her brother’s, so full of certainty. 

I couldn’t stop myself from tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.  “I thought the big sister was supposed to be the smart one.”

A soft giggle, and her bouncy, bubbly persona was back.  “Sarah always thinks so, too.”  She wrapped me in a giant hug.  “Now, we had a lunch date today, or did you forget?”  She reached for the tissues on the bedside table, handing me the box.  “What can I do to help you up and about?”

“Well, since it’s a bit early for whiskey,” I smiled weakly, “I’d love a cup of tea.”

“Tea!”  Emma bounced against the matters before vaulting to her feet.  “I almost forgot!”  She crossed to the dresser where she’d dropped her purse and a small wicker gift basket.  I recognized the distinctive bottles and the critter on the label immediately, and burst out laughing. 

“Brer Rabbit!” I exclaimed as she handed the molasses over.  “How in the world…?

“Come now, sweet sister,” she grinned.  “Don’t you know you can get just about anything online these days?”

I laughed again, turning the bottles in my hands, sniffling a bit as nostalgia washed over me in a not entirely unwelcome wave.  “Your brother is going to despise the fact that this is in his pantry.”

“I know,” she tittered gleefully.  “Don’t tell him, okay? Just… put it away wherever you normally would… let’s see how long it takes him to discover.”

When I emerged from the shower fifteen minutes later, my eyes welled again at the sight that greeted me.  A cup of tea, fragrant with my decidedly un-British compliment sat steaming on my nightstand.  The bed had been stripped and remade with fresh sheets, my laptop sat charging on the tea table by the window.  A flirty blouse and skirt ensemble was draped across the foot of the bed, along with earrings, a matching necklace, and ballet flats.  “Say, Em?” I called out, laughing.

“Hmmm?” Her voice floated up from the kitchen.  I could hear her rinsing the kettle. 

“I appreciate you making my bed, really, thanks.  But do you think you could stop trying to dress me like I’m a five year old?”

Her reply was swift and sweet.  “What, exactly would you have picked out to wear?”  I did a quick mental inventory of my closet, and irritated, realized my choice would most likely have been the same as hers.  “What was that?” She called teasingly.  “I didn’t hear…”

“Fuck you, Emma.”

“You’re welcome, Michelle.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES/WARNINGS: D/S practices

My impromptu trip was Emma’s idea.  She’d shaken her head at me ruefully as we sat at a patio table outside my favorite French bistro, me picking at my lunch as my crossed legs bounced incessantly beneath my napkin.  “It’s only a four hour flight…”

I don’t think I’ve ever packed a suitcase so quickly in my life.

The lovely young lady behind the registration desk of the Clandeboye Lodge was smiling and speaking sweetly to me before I was even halfway across the deserted lobby.  “Good evening, miss, how may I be of service to you?”

I shifted my grip on my rolling suitcase as I fumbled in my purse for my ID, Visa, and passport.  “Hi there,” I smiled in return.  “My name is Michelle O’ Shea…”

“The woman Mr. Windsor phoned about, yes ma’am.”  She took my identification and clicked furiously at her keyboard.  “All of the arrangements are in place,” she assured me as she worked.  “Mr. Hiddleston is expected to return around nine-thirty,” she glanced up at me, a sudden blush pinking her cheeks.  “But you probably already knew that.”  I nodded with a gentle grin as she handed me back my papers.  “The kitchen will be open until eleven and I… uh…”  She stammered, her blushing deepening and spreading to the roots of her hair. 

I couldn’t help but giggle a little at her discomfort.  “What?”

“Well,” she cleared her throat.  “Mr. Hiddleston has a small breakfast delivered every morning at five.”  She fumbled with the buttons at her cuff.  “I… took the liberty of cancelling tomorrow’s service.”

“Ah.”  I nodded in approval.  “Good call.”

Her eyes widened a bit, and then she burst into nervous laughter.  “Yes, miss.”  She handed me a small envelope with a key card tucked inside.  “Suite 317.  You can take those elevators, exit to your right.”  I thanked her, and was turning to leave when she spoke again.  “Miss O’Shea?”

I paused.  “Yes?”

The blush was back, her eyes shyly downcast.  “May… may I see the ring?”

An electric thrill ran through me, and I chided myself silently not to let it go to my head.  Shifting my load to my right hand, I extended my left over the counter.  She breathed a silent gasp of admiration, taking my fingertips to turn the stone beneath the light.

“It’s gorgeous,” she sighed dreamily, finally lifting her gaze to mine.  “You’re going to marry him.”

“Yes.”  Humble, simple truth.  “Yes, I am.”

The suite was breathtakingly beautiful, and my heart ached as I took in the little touches of Tom everywhere: his leather jacket slung over an armchair, his copy of the  _High Rise_ novel on the sofa side table, his laptop on the desk.  Knowing I had very little time to set the scene I’d been imagining all day, I rushed myself into the bedroom.  The “do not disturb” light was already illuminated on the bedside telephone, wine was chilling on one nightstand, bottled water on the other.  The bed had been turned down.  I showered quickly, piling my hair on top of my head before slipping into a lacy black negligee.  A touch of eyeliner and mascara; I stained my lips a deep crimson.  Finally satisfied, I turned off the lights, settled into the armchair in the corner, and waited.

 I shivered a bit when I finally heard the swipe of Tom’s key card in the lock, running my tongue over my lips in anticipation.  I heard the muffled sound of his bag hitting the table, the shuffling sound as he kicked off his shoes.  He breathed a heavy sigh, and I listened to the soft rustling of his clothes, the creak of a chair.  The quiet click of a mouse was followed by the strikes of his fingers on his keyboard, and after a moment, a low, grunted “Damn!”  A moment later, he was muttering under his breath: “Come on, love, pick up.”  Brief silence.  “Michelle, my love, it’s me… where are you?  I haven’t got the time wrong, have I?”  I could hear him dragging his fingers through his hair.  “Look, call me when you get this, or better yet, go straight to Skype.  And please hurry, darling… you’ve no idea how badly I need to see you.  Seriously.  I can smell your perfume, I miss you so much.”  I heard the clatter of his phone on the desk, and then the chair squeaked again.  I sat straighter in my own seat, crossing my legs tighter against the wet heat that throbbed between them.  The bedroom door swung wider, the lights flicked on.

The sight of him made every inch of my skin tingle.  Long legs hugged by grey denim, his navy blue button-down already pulled free of his waistband.  His golden brown hair was swept back from his forehead, his skin ruddy, his jaw lightly stubbled.  His eyes were blown wide, his mouth slightly agape, and I could see his fingers twitching at his sides.  “Michelle?  Am I… are you… really here?”

Pushing myself up from the chair, my bare feet tiptoed the distance between us, stopping so close a deep inhale would brush one body against the other.  “Touch me,” I whispered.  “And find out.” 

His hands rose slowly, his fingertips sliding under the corners of my jaw, his thumbs caressing my cheeks.  “Oh… my God…” He tilted my head back and sealed his mouth over mine, a deep searing kiss that curled my toes and drew the breath from my lungs in a longing whimper.  I slid my arms around his waist and pressed myself against him, feeling the taut muscles of his lean body ripple in hungry excitement.  Something warm and wet splashed against my cheek; I opened my eyes to see that a single tear had fallen from his.  “You’re here,” his grin was wide, his voice husky.  “You’re really here.”

I nodded, keeping my eyes wide and flirtatious, my teeth closed on my lower lip.  “I missed you.”

“Oh, God, sweetheart,” he murmured before lowering his head once more.  “I missed you, too.”  Another kiss, deep and sweet, and I could feel the tension burning inside him.  His hands slid up my neck, into my hair, and I waited for his grip to tighten, for him to pull me to one angle or another.  But there was only the gentle massaging of his fingertips against my scalp, and the restrained tenderness of his lips groping at mine.  I squirmed against him, sighing wantonly, giving every cue I could think of to coax him into releasing the predatory urges I could feel roiling beneath his skin.  When his control held, I yanked away from him abruptly, forcing down a giggle at the goggling shock in his expression.  “Michelle, what the hell…?”

I pressed a finger to his lips to silence him, a hint of a smirk curling the corners of my mouth as he kissed my fingertip.  I placed my hands on his hips, turning his back to the bed, the mattress just behind his knees.  I slid into his arms again, kissing him sweetly, running my fingers through his hair.  He smiled down on me when we parted, running his palms up and down my bare arms.  My smirk widened, and he barely had time to raise a curious eyebrow before I gripped the front lapels of his shirt.  Buttons pattered softly to the carpet as I tore it open, baring the defined lines of his chest and abdomen, the dark, pebbled flesh of his nipples.  His gasp of surprise was musical, and I could see the panther and the pussycat warring for control behind his brow.

I didn’t wait to see which would emerge victorious; I planted both palms on his chest and pushed as hard as I could.  He stumbled and fell onto the bed, chuckling and scooting back towards the pillows as I crawled over him.  “You have missed me…” He purred as I slid my tongue into his mouth once more, kissing him breathless.  His hands slid up my thighs to my hips and I caught his wrists, pressing them to the mattress beside his head.  He chuckled quietly into my mouth until I rose up, straddling his chest, pinning his elbows with my knees.  I arched my back above him, pushing my hair back from my forehead, putting every inch of myself on display to his gaze.  I waited for his eyes to crawl down my body and back, and when they met mine once more, I moved as quickly as I could.

It hadn’t been difficult to thread the black silk scarf through the slats of the headboard, or to hide it behind the mattress. Catching him off guard made it easier to grab his hands and secure them in place, just above his head.  “Michelle, Jesus…” His head craned up, excitement and apprehension mixing in his darkening eyes. 

“Shhh,” I leaned over, caressing his jaw with my cleavage as I slid the safety shears from their hiding place beneath the pillows.  I sat back slowly, watching his eyes close briefly as the warm, wet flesh between my legs pressed against his belly, the cords and veins in his neck on exquisite display beneath his skin.  When he opened them again, I was spinning the scissors between my fingers, the light dancing off the shining stainless steel.  I watched his gaze lock exactly where I wanted it, and his eyes followed the tool as I snicked it open, catching the thin shoulder strap of my negligee between the blades.  The snip echoed through the room, and the black silk parted, baring the swell of my breast to just the tip of my areola.

“Oh, fuck…”  Tom squirmed a little beneath me as the other strap met the same fate, and I watched his hands clutching at the empty air.  But still uncertainty lingered behind his eyes, etched into the corners of his mouth.  “Let me up, darling,” he cooed, pleading.  “Let me  _feel_  you…”

I shook my head teasingly, one unruly wave of my hair escaping the clip and tumbling down my neck.  Leaning over, I brushed a chaste peck against his cheek.  “Not,” an identical kiss to the other.  “Yet.”  Smiling into his eyes, I licked a long, wet line along the sharp angle of his jaw; he hissed through his teeth as I closed mine on his earlobe.

“Michelle…”

“Shhh,” I hovered above him once more, a finger to my puckered lips, smiling at the hungry embers just taking spark in his eyes.  He arched up to kiss me but I moved away, burying my face in his neck.  His chest heaved beneath me as I nibbled and tasted my way along his throat, over his collarbone.  I bit gently at the swells of his pecs, teased his nipples with the tip of my tongue.  I shifted my body until I was straddling the swell of his crotch, and I pressed my dripping seam against the straining bulge of his cock. 

“Fucking Christ,” he groaned, lifting his hips to grind against me.  “You’re soaking wet…”

“Mmm-hmm,” I grinned, bringing the shears to the vee of lace and silk still barely clinging to my body.  I snicked a few small cuts downward, then tossed them easily to the nightstand.  “I told you,” I moaned in as breathy a voice as I could manage.  “I missed you.”  I watched his pupils dilate impossibly wide as I took my breasts in my hands, kneading them firmly, letting him see the hard peaks of my nipples through the fabric before I bunched it between my fingers.  It tore easily, straight down the middle, and I flipped the scraps to the floor.  An inarticulate growl escaped his throat as I lay my palms against his ribcage, pushing my breasts together with my upper arms.  Slowly, I began to rock and swirl my hips, fucking myself against his fly.

“Oh, Jesus Fucking Christ…” Tom snarled, his eyes glued to his groin, the flush of excitement spreading through his cheeks as the fluid of mine darkened the fabric of his jeans.  “This is completely unfair…”  He tugged in vain at the scarf that held his hands immobile.  “At least unzip me, love.”

“Huh-uh,” I shook my head, pressing my clit against the ridge of fabric above his zipper and moaning softly in delight. 

He bucked his hips up against me once more, making me squeal.  “Come on, sweet, let me free.  Let me touch you… hold you…”  The sugary tenderness still lingered in his voice.  But I could see the ticking at the corner of his jaw, his lips pulling back ever so slightly in an almost imperceptible scowl. 

“No,” I hummed before closing my eyes and bowing my back, my fingers carefully clawing at his chest as I rubbed my delicate inner folds against the rough material.  I forced myself to forget about Tom for a few moments, focusing completely on my own body and its pleasure.  My left hand travelled to my left breast, teasing and tugging at my aching nipple, while my right hand slipped between my legs to spread my lips wider, exposing more of the sensitive flesh to the stimulation as I rutted against him.  It was only when I felt the helix of my orgasm beginning to tighten behind my navel that I opened my eyes again, looking down on the man beneath me. 

His brows were knitted tightly together, his teeth clenched and on display in a full-on snarl.  One errant curl had fallen across his forehead, and his Adam’s apple hitched irregularly in his throat.  His fingers were twisting madly at the scarf at his wrists, trying desperately to catch the tail of the pullaway knot that would set him free with a simple tug.  His eyes met mine, and my heart swelled: he was aroused and frustrated and, at long last, annoyed.  “Michelle,” he intoned huskily, that dark note of warning that I had missed so much.  “Let me free.”

“No,” I replied firmly.  “Not until you tell me.”

His face twisted in brief confusion.  “What?”

I leaned over him once more, my breasts brushing his chest, my lips grazing his as I spoke.  “Tell me, Tom.”  A brilliant smile split his face, his glorious chuckle dancing on his breath.  “ _Tell me_ …”

“I’m yours, Michelle,” he purred, his tongue tickling my lips with the last syllable of my name.  “I’m yours.”

I nipped gently at his lower lip.  “And?”

He chuckled again, his mirth making me shiver with delight.  “You’re mine.  You are mine.  You’re mine, and I’m yours… I’m yours… I’m yours…”  He craned his neck to seal our mouths together, and that’s when I sat up abruptly.

“You’re my what?”

His face went white with momentary shock, and my heart stopped briefly in my chest.  We hovered on the precipice of that moment for what seemed an eternity.  And then, ever so slowly, his face curled into an expression I can only describe as full-court Loki, and I began to shake in anticipation.

“I’m your Dom,” he growled softly.  “And if you don’t fucking let me loose, my sweet little sub, I promise you, you won’t sit for a week.”

My fingers scrabbled to the ends of the scarf, and with one strong tug, his hands were on my neck.  His tongue was swirling restlessly around mine as he sat us up, and then he was turning me, flipping us both, pinning me face down to the mattress.  “Word?” His mouth pressed against my ear.

“Iris.”

“Hands on the headboard.”  I gripped the slats until my knuckles were white.  “No warnings, love.  Move them, and you’ll be the one tied down and helpless, with me pulling myself off while you watch.  Is that in any way unclear?”

“No, Tom,” I shook my head, feeling more of my hair fall free around my face.

“Good.” I could hear the clink of his belt, the soft buzz of his zipper.  “I hope you enjoyed yourself, sweet, riding me the way you did.”  I felt his hands grip my hips, lifting them up as his knees pushed my legs up and open.  “Because that’s all the foreplay you’re going to get.”

He wasn’t kidding; the air left my lungs in a delicious scream as he forced himself forward, burying his entire length inside me in one savage thrust.  He collapsed forward, covering my back, burying his face in my neck.  “God, I missed you…”

“I missed you, Tom,” I turned my head to kiss the corner of his jaw.  “Please… please…”

He began to undulate his body and I exhaled a shuddering moan, burying my face in the pillow as his teeth closed on my shoulder.  Fast, then slow; shallow, then deep.  He would indulge in a rhythm just long enough for me to learn it, only to switch when I tried to dance with him.  Hitting my g-spot with exquisite precision one moment, avoiding it altogether the next.  Reaching down between my legs to toy with my clit, only to withdraw when I tried to grind into his touch.  He reduced me to a shaking, sweating, sobbing mess, and I couldn’t have been more grateful. 

At last, I could feel the familiar quiver of tension in his thighs when they pressed against mine, could hear the soft grunts that began to punctuate his controlled but quickening breath.  I arched toward him, wanting him as deep as he could possibly be when he came, and without thinking, I let go of the headboard, reaching back for him.  His velvety chuckle made me realize what I’d done and my hands shot back into place.   “I saw that…”

The thought of him stopping made tears spring to my eyes.  “I’m sorry, Tom,” I whined softly.  “I’m sorry…”

“Mmm,” he leaned over me again, flickering his tongue against the shell of my ear.  “Disobedient little minx.”

“I’m sorry, Tom, I forgot.  Please… please don’t stop…”

This time, it was a full bodied laugh.  “My sweet Michelle…”  His hands rubbed gently at my wrists, and I began to shake my head.

“Please no, Tom… please don’t…”

His hands ghosted back along my arms as he sat up, and I sighed in relief as he began to thrust once more.  So my guard was completely down when he brought his hand down sharply on the curve of my ass.  I yelped beneath him.  “Ow… Tom…”

“One punishment or the other, love,” his voice was gentle, soothing.  “Take your pick.”

Swallowing hard, I nodded silently.

“There’s my good girl.”  The affection in his voice washed over me like a warm tide, and I moaned out loud when he slid forward again. 

He took his time rebuilding the momentum, fucking me slowly into a frenzy as his hands delivered blow after careful blow, scrambling the signals in my brain until the endorphin rush flowing through my every cell was more than I could take.  I convulsed around him, unbearably intense ecstasy shooting through every muscle, pushing his name from my lips in an endless stream of gratitude.  And right before the final jolt that pushed me out of myself and into the warm, euphoric ether, I felt his hot breath between my shoulder blades, his arms viselike around my waist, and the wet heat of his release filling me in long, hard spurts.

I was on my back when I opened my eyes, Tom’s warm, welcome weight on top of me.  He had pulled the clips free from my hair and was stroking it gently across the pillow, his lips and nose nuzzling at my cheek and temple.  “Hello there,” he grinned when my eyes finally focused on his. 

“Hi,” I grinned, snuggling closer to his chest and pressing my lips to his throat. 

“Thirsty?” He offered me the water, licking the drops that fell on my neck and chest from the sweating bottle as I drank.  “We never even got to the wine,” he grinned. 

“Who cares?”  I giggled, taking another drink before tossing the bottle aside and drawing his head down to mine for another deep kiss. 

He shifted his body beneath the sheets, tangling our legs together.  “You’re feeling pretty good, I take it?”  He stroked a finger along my collarbone.

“My ass hurts,” I scowled sleepily.  “Other than that, I feel pretty amazing.”

“You should learn to follow instructions better,” he kissed the tip of my nose.  We lay in silence for a moment, his lips trailing over my forehead, my eyelids, my lips.  “You’re really here,” he breathed softly.  “You’re really, really here.”  I nodded, curling my fingers in the hair on his chest.  “Thank you,” he whispered.  “Thank you for being here.”

“Thank yourself,” I smiled.  “After that beautiful letter, I couldn’t stay away.”

He positively beamed.  “Liked that, did you?”

I traced my fingers over the stubble of his chin.  “I loved it.”

“So,” he lifted my hand to his lips, kissing just above my ring.  “This is us?”

My eyes filled with tears of relief.  “This is us.”

He smiled, cocking his eyebrow.   “So I guess this is where we tell each other, eh?”

“Yes,” I nodded.  “I’m yours, Tom… I’m yours.”

“And I am yours, little one,” he lifted my chin, breathing the words into my mouth.  “I’m yours.”


	33. Chapter 33

Ireland was beautiful.  What I saw from the hotel room, anyway. 

_High Rise_ wrapped right on schedule in late August, and Tom eagerly hurled himself into preparation for his next role.  I have to admit, even I raised an eyebrow when I heard Marc had actually selected him for the part; Tom was about as acquainted with Hank Williams as I was with Queen Elizabeth.  But he was, of course, ecstatic and overjoyed, and it was easy to let that excitement rub off on me.  The Kingman V became his constant companion, and when I wasn’t working on my manuscript, he was peppering me with questions about life and family and traditions below the Mason Dixon.  We sojourned back stateside so that Tom could spend time with the film’s musical director, dividing our time between the Crowell home and the house in North Carolina.

Then came the week in September when Rodney suggested we all schlep ourselves up Michigan way to give Tom the opportunity to see some country/bluegrass music tradition up close and personal.  I dusted off the Nikon to capture shot after shot around the festival grounds and behind the scenes. 

And when Tom actually took the stage, I fell in love with him all over again. 

The crowd probably thought the sunglasses were an endearing, if somewhat dorky, attempt to project some slick, movie star image.  I knew better.  He was nervous.  His strumming was less than perfect, and more than once during the three minute tune, I caught myself thinking again, “Oh, Hiddleston, your British is showing.”  Of course, none of that mattered.  His heart, his excitement, his love for performing poured out of him, as it always did, and by the time he took his bows, the audience was almost as smitten as I was.

I awoke the next morning with a start to the sound of a horn blaring outside the bedroom window.  I threw it open, intending to bawl out the asshole responsible, only to see Tom grinning ear to ear.  Red flannel shirt, faded blue jeans, his beloved broken-in boots.  I have no idea where he procured the battered old Ford pick-up, but he looked damn good leaning against it.  He drove us from Grand Rapids to Flint, and after an hour of wrong turns down dirt roads, we pulled onto the abandoned plot of scrabbled land where my father had grown up.  The house had long since been demolished, the foundation taken back by tall grass and unchecked berry patches, and the branches of the trees were just starting to bow under the weight of the early apples.  The air was fragrant with their sweet scent as we walked the path, hand in hand, to the still standing barn.  I snapped pictures of him tucking a stalk of straw between his teeth, his face upturned to the afternoon sun shining down through the holes in the roof.  He caught shots of me on the board swing hanging from the lowest branch on the centuries old oak tree out back, tracing my fingers over the heart and the J.O. +  R.P. carved into the trunk.

We picnicked in its generous shade, waving to the families that came and went for the free picking, and as the sun began its descent, we drove down to the river bank to watch the stars come out.  Tom spread the blanket in the truck bed and pulled the Kingman from behind the seats.  I couldn’t help but giggle at his attempt at a serenade; in tune, heartfelt, and adorable, but undeniably cheesy.  Of course, those giggles turned to gasps when he lifted the skirt of my sundress, hooking my bare legs over his shoulders and pushing my panties aside to bury his face and fingers between them.

He’d been concerned his immersion in this new project so close to our impending nuptials would leave me feeling neglected and pouty, but the truth was, my plate was just as full, professionally speaking.  Doubleday had offered me an extension, thinking a Christmas release would allow the book to catch the tail swells of the media wave expected to follow after the wedding.  They were also hoping I would use the time to explore a bit of a re-write in certain areas, “perhaps dropping some of the metaphorical coy pretense” I used when describing my relationship with my husband-to-be.  They even went so far as to cite the appeal of this progressive, evolving mindset to the women in their target demographic as part of the draw that led them to offer me a deal in the first place.  I pushed back as much as I could, until a call from Grace: “I’d figure out a way to give on this one, Chelle.  At least a little.”

And so Tom found me pacing the floor of the bedroom that morning, his skin glistening from his run, shirt slung over his bare shoulder, water bottle in hand.  “Sweet love,” he pulled me into an embrace, “what’s got those lovely knickers in such a twist?”

I huffed into his chest, wriggling against him to soak his sweat into my own skin and clothes.  “This book is going to flop.”

“What?” He tugged gently on my hair.  “You can’t possibly know that.”

“I can,” I nodded, a bit childishly.  “I can.  And I do.  It’s going to flop.  If it even makes it to printing, that is.”

He tossed the water aside to take my shoulders firmly in his hands.  “Where’s this all coming from?” He asked, his brow furrowed.  “Why wouldn’t it make it to press?  The writing is done, yes?  You’re just heavily into editing now.”  I chewed silently on my lower lip, eyes downcast until his firm hand under my chin lifted my gaze to his.  “Michelle…”

I shivered, delighted by his tone.  The tone.  The husky lilt to his voice that warned me I was stretching his patience. The timbre that made me want to wind through his legs, curl up in his lap, purring beneath his hand.    _Maybe you should spank it out of me…_

I may as well have said the words out loud; his face split in a knowing grin.  “I can find other ways to punish you, darling,” he purred.  “Ways that you won’t enjoy nearly as much…”  He punctuated the sentence with a sharp slap to my ass, forcing a yip from my throat.  “Out with it.”

I cast my eyes over my shoulder to the spot he’d just smacked, the spot my own palm was now absently rubbing.  “It’s that.”

His brows knit in confusion.  “What?”

I sighed heavily.  “This whole thing… it’s my story.  The story of how I’m finding myself… ‘the evolution of one woman’s feminine identity in the new millennium’.  You know that right?”  He nodded.  “And you’ve read some of the bits about my dad… my stupid body...”  I paused nervously.  “You.”

“Of course.”

“Well,” I sighed.  “They want… more you.”

His grin widened, and he lifted his nose just a bit in the air.  “Doesn’t everybody?”

I blanched at his affected arrogance, laughing and lightly punching his shoulder.  “Ass!”  He chuckled in delight.  “Be serious.” I blew my bangs back off my forehead.  “They want… more detail.  Clearer detail.”  His clouded expression told me he wasn’t catching on, and I rolled my eyes.  “They want more ‘Tom in the streets, Loki in the sheets’.”

He burst out laughing.  “They want you to write a porn novel?”

“No!” I punched him again.  “I’m being serious, Tom.  They want me to be a little more… forward… about our private dynamic.”

“So?” He used his t-shirt to fluff some of the perspiration from his curls before tossing it about a foot shy of the hamper, then shrugged.  “Be a little more forward about our private dynamic.”

I stared at him, my jaw slightly unhinged.  “You’re kidding me, right?”  He shook his head, wide-eyed, innocent, serious.  “Tom…” I groped for words.  “I can’t do that…”

He cocked his head, eyebrows lifting curiously.  “Why not?”  He watched me flounder for a moment before reaching out and caressing my cheek gently.  “Does it embarrass you… what we do when we’re alone together?”

I shook my head easily.  “No.”

“Do you think we’re the only people who… indulge… in such delights?”

“Pfft,” I snorted, “God no.”

“Do you think they should be embarrassed about the choices they make, the things they do?”

I was starting to see his point.  I was, in truth, slightly infuriated by how easily he’d boiled it down to its essence.  “No.”

He leaned forward, dropping a sweet peck on the tip of my nose.  “Then write it, love.”  He released me and headed for the bathroom.  After a moment, I stumbled behind him.  He glanced over his shoulder at me as he leaned in to turn on the shower.  “Problem still?”

“Well… yeah,” I stammered.  “I mean… Tom… your career…”

“Eheheheheh.”  I clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes at the lack of anxiety in his chortle.  “Let’s discuss my career a moment, shall we?”  He dropped his running shorts and boxers with a flourish.  “For starters, there’s the fact that I’ve stripped off my trousers in front of a camera four different times.”

“Yes,” I planted a hand on my hip.  “The internet has made me very aware.”

He chuckled again before stepping into the tub, under the steaming spray.  “After that, my reputation took off when I accepted the part of a demigod who, at the heart of his construction, is a misguided, manipulative, horse-mating, gender-changing bisexual.”

“Way watered down,” I insisted.

“On the screen, love, only on the screen.”  He filled his hands with shampoo and began scrubbing at his scalp.  “You’ve read the interviews, you’ve seen the discussions online, you know the hardcore Marvel fans and the students of Norse mythology don’t forget.”

“Okay,” I sighed in exasperation.

“Thank you.”  He rubbed his soapy hands over his face before turning it into the stream to rinse.  “Now, this year alone, I played a 19th century gothic villain who doesn’t separate his sex from his love, or his kink, or his violence, and was told to do so in a manner that guaranteed the film  a proper ‘R’ rating.  After that, I portrayed a man who was never more aroused than when he was enticing the women around him with the ideas of pain and fear and pleasure and loss of control all bound up into one, except maybe when he was fantasizing about having sex with his own sister.”  He reached over to wipe the steam from the glass door so he could see me clearly.  “Do you really think the offers are going to dry up just because people find out I like to hold my little bird down and smack her luscious ass while I’m fucking her?”

I scowled at him a little, blowing my hair back once again.  “Apparently, you don’t think so.”

“That’s right,” he answered simply.  “I don’t.”  My thumbnail had found its way between my teeth, and he smiled at me gently.  “Michelle, this is your project, your work.  You have to do what your heart tells you is the right thing to do.  But if you’re asking for my permission, darling…”  His blue eyes were bright and clear.  “You have it.  You don’t need it, but you have it, all the same.”

I sighed a little, my gaze searching his.  “You’re certain?”

“Absolutely,” he chuckled a little.  “Michelle, this isn’t just your story.  It’s my story, too.  And you have a wonderful voice, an amazing voice.”  He paused, only for a moment, as if to make certain I was truly listening.  “I trust you, darling.  No hesitation, no reservations.  I trust you.  There’s no one I’d rather have tell my story, no one I’d rather share it with…”

The weight that had been crushing my chest lifted, and I took a deep breath, held it, blew it out.  “I love you, Tom.”

“You do, eh?” He cocked a lascivious eyebrow.  “Prove it.  Get that aforementioned luscious ass in here…”

It only took a second for my pajamas to hit the floor, and then he was holding me, biting and sucking at his favorite spot beneath my ear as the water poured down over us both.  I writhed against him, savoring the slippery sensation of his skin sliding against mine.  His cock rose proudly between us, nudging at my belly and he lifted his head to smile down at me.  “On your knees for me, love.”

I obeyed eagerly, finding a spot where the stream from the faucet could rain down over us both.  “Just your tongue for now,” he instructed, quiet, but full of calm command.  I shivered, crossing my arms behind my back without being told, and took a second to bask in the proud smile he gave me.  “Such a good girl,” he praised. 

I extended my tongue, catching a few drops of water before lapping gently at his head.  His back arched ever so slightly, and I swirled my touch around the blushing flesh that emerged as his foreskin retracted.  A small pearl of fluid beaded at his tip and I caught it easily, savoring the salty tang.  I sat back a bit, looking up at him from underneath my lashes, and took a long firm lick from base to crown.  He was indescribably beautiful, errant curls dripping around his forehead, his cerulean eyes sleepy with desire, the bow of his mouth slightly agape.  “Again,” he whispered, and I complied, tracing the landscape of ridges and veins with almost reverent attention.  When his eyes closed completely, I leaned closer, stroking my tongue along the center of his scrotum, between the curves of his testes.  The flesh drew up in response, allowing me easier access to the sensitive spot at his perineum.  “Fucking brilliant,” he shuddered as I massaged it firmly, my lips caressing his balls as I moved.  “Suck, sweetheart.”

I opened my mouth wider, careful not to catch him with my teeth, drew him in; first one, then the other.  His fingers slid into my hair and he pushed against me, rocking his hips just a little.”So fucking good,” he groaned softly, indulging for just a moment before pulling back.  “All of it, love,” he gasped, wrapping his hand around his shaft and tracing my lips with his leaking tip.  “Are you ready?”

I nodded eagerly.  “Yes, Tom.”

“Good girl,” he grinned.  His hand on the back of my head guided, gentle but firm, and I relaxed my jaw, breathing slow and deep as he slid first into my mouth, then slowly and carefully into my throat.  I swallowed against the resistance until he was seated completely, then closed my lips around him, hollowing my cheeks.  “God, yes,” he rasped, pumping his body ever so slightly.  “Perfect…”

I leaned back, letting his length slide between my lips, pausing to tease my tongue against the divot just below his head, making him buck and quiver against the roof of my mouth.  Then I slid forward again, taking him deep and swallowing around him.  I continued in this rhythm, back and forth, up and down, up and down again, until his hands were fisted in my saturated hair, his muscles taut, his jaw clenched.  “That’s my girl,” he encouraged roughly.  “My naughty little minx… my brilliant, brilliant little cocksucker…”

I whimpered quietly, pressing my thighs together against the wet, throbbing ache between them.  “Oh, my sweet little one,” his face was filled with affection and amusement.  “It’s all right… spread your legs, Michelle… touch yourself…”

I moaned softly in gratitude, slipping one hand between my thighs.  My folds were swollen and slick, and my fingers slid easily between them.  I pressed them deep, my fingertips seeking and finding the textured flesh of my g-spot.  My entire body trembled as I pressed firmly against it, grinding my clitoris against the heel of my hand.  “That’s it, love,” Tom panted quietly, staring intensely down at me.  “Make yourself come with my cock in your mouth…”

Closing my eyes to increase my focus, I moved my hand harder, faster, all the while sucking desperately at the hot, hard shaft between my lips.  My free hand fluttered to his muscular thigh to keep my balance; he covered it with his own.  The sounds he made drowned out the noise of the water raining down around us, savage-sweet grunts and low muttered curses that echoed through my brain in time with my pounding heart. His fingers clenched around mine, and I knew he was close; that was all it took to push me over the edge into my own stuttering freefall, my core convulsing around my own thrusting fingers.  Tom pulled himself from my mouth, his hand stroking, pulling, bringing himself off in pulsating jets that splashed warm and creamy white against my lips and chin, dripped into the hollow of my throat and down over the swells of my breasts.

And then he was pulling me to my feet, his arms crushing my body against his as his mouth crashed into mine.  His tongue pushed between my lips as his fingers thrust between my legs, sending another orgasm exploding through me, hot on the heels of the first.  I clung to him as my body convulsed, sobbing my ecstasy into his lungs; he held me, supporting me even when my shaking legs gave out completely.   And when he released my mouth so that I could gasp for air, when my head fell back against the tiled wall, when my lids would not open no matter how hard I tried, he held me still.  His hands, his words, his warmth, the only things that mattered, that kept me anchored to reality.

“I love you, Michelle… you’re mine.  I’m yours and you’re mine… I’m yours and you’re mine…”


	34. Chapter 34

“One cufflink.  One cufflink!  How does a man manage to lose one bloody cufflink?”

I glanced over my shoulder with a shake of my head and a silent giggle as Tom proceeded, once again, to rummage frantically through his dresser drawers.  It actually made perfect sense to me that only one of a set could go missing, but I knew better than to say so. At least, not at that particular moment.   “Just give me five more minutes, sweetie… I’ll help you look.”

September had blown out of our little corner of London on a sunny and unusually warm breeze.  Tom and I had both spent the last days of the month scrambling to get our professional loose ends tied up so that we would have nothing to focus on except one another until he was needed on location in Louisiana.  He’d packed along with Rodney and his band to “Hank it up a little” for a few more dates while I returned home for the final push on my book.   I also managed to squeeze in the final fitting for my dress, along with a tour of details at Diana’s home with the Hiddleston women.  With every day that passed, with every piece that fell into place, I felt more and more at ease, more and more _right_.  And as those feelings truly took root, I realized I didn’t care about the potential disasters the wedding might provide.  I didn’t care if the dress wasn’t perfect, or if Tom’s tie was the wrong shade of violet.  I didn’t care if the flowers showed up brown around the edges, or if the buffet table collapsed, or if the cake was dry.  I didn’t care if the backyard dance floor was too small, or if the club we planned to visit after the formalities for drinks and dancing with friends was overrun by Hiddlestoners, forcing us to cancel those plans.

The only thing I cared about was the fact that, after a whirlwind year of ups and downs, of beautiful discoveries and devastating loss, Tom and I were getting married.  It was the only way we could possibly belong to each other more, and it was now three days away.

Tom’s realization that he was missing a cufflink, one of a set that had belonged to his grandfather, came as we packed our things in preparation for our island getaway.  Wanting to build at least a little anticipation, I’d made plans to move into Diana’s guest room for the last few nights of my single woman’s life, and this would be our last chance to square away arrangements together.  We were just starting the search when a text from Grace, “You’ve got mail”, set me down in front of my laptop.

_Ms. O’ Shea (or should we say The Soon To Be Mrs. Hiddleston) –_

_Attached you will find the final edit.  My associates and I would like to thank you for the time you took these last weeks incorporating our suggestions into the prose, and to tell you that we could not be more pleased with the finished result.  Please submit any personal author’s notes/forewords/afterwords to our offices no later than October 15 th.  We can provide the first bound copy by the first of November, and would like you to make yourself available for advance North American press the week of Thanksgiving.  We expect to yield projections by December 5th, and will tailor a promotional schedule to those findings after that.  We understand Mr. Hiddleston has obligations of his own, but he is always most welcome to join us in these endeavors as you both see fit.  _

_One final detail: we really do need a title by the fifteenth as well._

_Warmest Regards_ ,

_Danielle Goetz_

_Senior Managing Editor_

_Doubleday Press, New York_

I sat back in my chair, a satisfied grin slowly curling my lips.  Final edit.  Editors pleased.  North American press dates.  Somehow, seemingly in spite of myself, I’d become an author.  The book itself might not make a single cent, but it was written. I’d written it. I started it, struggled through it, sobbed over it, considered chucking it all, and finished it.  In that moment, it was more than enough.  I still had no idea what I wanted to call this little creation of mine, but I wasn’t extremely worried about that.  I had a plan to tie up that loose end as well.

 

Closing my computer with a snap, I rose from my chair and turned to my rather harried fiancée, who was now tearing helter skelter through the drawers of my armoire.  “Tom,” I struggled to keep the giggle out of my voice.  “How would it have gotten in there?”

 

He threw his arms over his head, wide-eyed and frustrated.  “I don’t know, darling, all I know is I’ve bloody looked everywhere else.”  He slammed one drawer shut and moved onto the next.  “Mum’s going to have my head if I can’t find it… not just for the wedding… she saved them for years…”  His fingers emerged from the drawer tangled in a pair of mesh and lace panties more decorative than functional.  “Oh, I like these,” he tossed them to me with a grin.  “Pack them, will you, love?”  I rolled my eyes a bit, but obliged him nonetheless, tucking the scrap of fabric into my open suitcase on the bed.  “Dammit!”  He closed the drawer and the doors of the armoire with matching thumps.  “Where the bloody hell could it be?” I sighed with a smile as I watched him drop to his hands and knees, crawling around the floor, stretching his arms to feel blindly under the furniture.  “You haven’t run the vacuum in here, have you?”

 

Shaking my head silently, I padded through the bathroom into the closet.  Tom’s tuxedo hung zipped in a clear plastic garment bag at the front of his rack; I closed my eyes to savor the scent of him that wafted on the air when I opened it.  I briefly caressed the long strip of the purple satin tie that hung around the neck of the shirt before reaching for the cuffs.  The first was bare, but the second…  “Tom?”  I called out teasingly.  “Could you come here a sec?”

I could hear him grumbling as he shuffled in behind me.  “Michelle, I don’t have time for…”  His eyes widened a bit as I held up the sleeve, the onyx and silver link he’d been searching for dangling from one of the holes.  “Bloody hell,” he growled, fumbling it loose and pulling the box from his pocket, tucking it in next to its mate before dropping the box into the garment bag.  “Thank you, love.”  He wound an arm around my waist and pressed a kiss to my temple. 

“Anytime,” I turned to him, winding my arms around his neck and pressing my breasts against his chest, nibbling at his jaw. 

“Those shoes are too shiny.”

Slightly offended by his lack of interest, I let my head fall back on my neck, looking up at him blankly.  “What?”

“Those shoes,” he gestured to the pair he’d selected, sitting under the garment bag with his dress socks draped over them.  “They’re far too shiny!”

I chuffed out an incredulous laugh.  “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m serious, Michelle… look…”  He wriggled out of my embrace to nudge them more into the light.  “I’m going to be waiting for you at the altar, looking like I’m standing in the middle of a fucking oil slick!”

“Tom,” I sighed, trying to conceal the exasperation I felt.  “They’re fine.”

“They are not fine,” he whinged.  “They look like something BP should be paying to clean up!”

I pressed my hands to my face, unable to suppress my laughter any longer.  “So pick a different pair!”

“That’s the thing, darling,” he grumped, pushing his clothing aside to rummage through his shoes.  “Obviously nothing else looked right, otherwise I wouldn’t have selected those monsters in the first place.”

“Then go buy a new pair!”

“Who the hell has time for shopping now?”  He threw his hands up again.  “I’ve got to get the rest of my stuff packed, get you off to Mum’s… why you still want to do that is beyond me, by the way, we shag at least twice a day and neither of us has ever had any trouble getting up and into it.  And we both know we’re going to sleep like shit alone in great big empty beds…” 

“Tom...”

He must have seen my expression twisting a little because he relented.  A little.  “I know, I know, it’s important to you.  I’m not saying I won’t do it, but I am saying you shouldn’t be upset that I’m a little upset that you want to do it.  I don’t want you holed up in my mum’s house; I want you here, with me, in our bed.”

“Tom…”

“But I said I would do it.”  His speech became a little wilder, his hand gestures more pronounced.  “So we’ll do it.  And while you’re off being pampered and preened over by my mum and my sisters – not saying you don’t deserve it, you absolutely do.  But while you’re off resting up my favorite bits, I’ve got new sides to review, a re-write to learn, those chords that keep giving me grief.”

“Tom,” I tried again.

 It was as if he hadn’t heard me.  “And Ben keeps insisting on a stag night, which I have less than zero interest in, but he keeps reminding me that Chris and Ken blew big holes in their schedules to be here for this, and that Ken has to leave as soon as the dinner is over, and that Charlie won’t be at the wedding at all.  And I still don’t know if we made a mistake not booking a car for the island, and maybe we should just extend the three days there instead of trying to come back here before heading back to the U.S…”

“Tom!”

“That’s a fuck of a lot of flying, Michelle, do you have any idea how exhausted we might be when it’s all said and done?  And I’m straight into filming and God only knows what Doubleday is going to expect out of you for the book.  And maybe they won’t expect anything, which puts you between projects, and you know how out of sorts you get with nothing to work on…”

_Crack!_

I didn’t hit him hard.  Just a bit of force, my open palm connecting with his cheek. 

It did the trick.  His words stuttered to a halt, his eyes blown wide but finally clear and focused.  Still, I reflexively cowered into myself as he pressed his hand to his face in shock.  “I-I’m sorry,” I stammered as his eyes swirled darker, narrowing a bit beneath his brow.  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.  But… you were nearly hysterical…”

His snarl vibrated straight to my core as his arms shot out, grabbing me around the waist and crushing me against his body hard enough to knock the wind from my lungs.  His hand found the back of my head, holding me to him as his mouth ate ravenously at mine.  I clutched weakly at the lapels of his shirt as he claimed me, grinding his erection into my pubic bone without mercy.  Just as quickly as he’d snatched me up, he yanked me back, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip in a gesture that perfectly revealed his hunger.  “I know you’re quite fond of this outfit, love,” he growled low in his throat.  “You have exactly ten seconds to get it out of my way.”

My hands flew to the hem of my blouse, ignoring the buttons and dragging it, along with my bra, over my head.  Tom stood back watching in predatory satisfaction as my trembling fingers unsnapped and unzipped my linen trousers.  I had barely stepped out of them before he was grabbing my wrists, guiding my hands to the fly of his jeans.  I fumbled with the button and the zipper, and he took a moment to push them down before dragging us both to the floor.  He pressed his forehead to mine as he thrust up inside me, his eyes closing in ecstasy.  “Fucking hell, Michelle… always so deliciously wet for me.”  I whimpered wantonly as his hands wrapped around my wrists, pinning them to the carpet.  He indulged in a few languid rolls of his hips before rising up slightly, gazing down on me with widely dilated eyes.

 “All those people, Michelle… sitting in my mother’s garden… they’re going to look at you, in your dress, your gorgeous dress you’ve kept hidden from me…”  He grunted a bit as I clenched around him.  “They’re going to look at you… every single one of them thinking how beautiful you look.”  He nuzzled his nose against mine.  “But they’ll never know, love.  Never know exactly how amazingly, incredibly beautiful you can look.  Because they’ll never see you like this.  They’ll never see you, naked and writhing, your cheeks so flushed, your lips so swollen, begging to be kissed.”  He kissed me then, hard, deep, sweeps of his tongue over and around mine that had me opening to him, wider and wider. 

“They’ll never see your bare breasts, bouncing with every thrust of my body into yours.”  I swallowed against a shuddering moan, arching my back off the floor.  “They’ll never see how hard your sweet little nipples become, how they flush from pink to red when I tease them with my lips and tongue.”  He shifted his position so he could catch my left nipple in his mouth, grinding his cock into me at an exquisite new angle.  He bit and suckled at the pebbled flesh until I cried out, my walls quivering around him, then shifted to my right, drawing wet circles on the swell before catching the peak between his teeth.  I moaned his name and his chuckle of delight rumbled through me.

“This is all mine, Michelle,” he murmured when he rose up above me once more.  “The way you stretch and arch beneath my touch.  The way the muscles of your belly and your thighs positively shake as I pound away inside you.  The way your legs spread, silently begging me to take you deeper, harder, the way your nectar just pours from inside you to welcome me in.  The way your sweet little cunt clenches and milks my cock… oh, fuck…”  His eloquence began to slip as we both edged closer to the pinnacle.  His hips pumped harder and I threw my head back, sobbing unashamedly in blissful agony.  He let go of my wrists and chuckled again as my hands flew to his neck, pulling him down for another starved, desperate kiss.  He allowed me just enough leverage to twist and buck against him but never let me have complete control of the rhythm, as if he knew best what my body needed to reach the highest heights. 

Which, of course, he did.  Every encounter between us had been a study in pleasure, and he’d minded his lessons well.  He’d learned me, memorized me, and I basked in the glow that came with being at his well-schooled mercy.  He dragged his mouth away from mine, smiling down at me.  “My Michelle.  My beautiful girl… my naughty little minx… my favorite little toy.”  He lay his full weight on me, drawing my thighs up over his hips as he pressed his mouth to my ear.  “And the next time I fuck you, little bird, you’ll be my wife…”  His teeth closed on my earlobe, and his hiss of rapture buzzed in the center of my brain.  “Come for me, darling, this last time… before our new first time… come for me… _now_ …”

“I love you, Tom,” I managed to gasp before the fiery fingers of my climax trailed their way up through my belly, wrapping around my throat and stopping all but a few gasping breaths as I bucked reflexively beneath him.

“Oh, darling… yes… that’s it… there you are… _fuck_!”  His arms slid low around my waist to lift me off the floor, allowing his thrusts to drive deeper and deeper as his own orgasm took hold.  He buried his face in my neck, scraping his teeth over my ear, riding out every pulsating spasm until we collapsed, limp and spent in each other’s arms.

Later, after our bodies had cooled, after we were dressed and packed, we stood on the front porch of his mother’s house.  He’d deposited my bags in the guest room, sneaking into the closet in an attempt to catch a glimpse of my dress before I chased him back downstairs.  Now, under the early evening stars, his hands held my face, his lips and tongue dancing over and around mine, kiss after sweet, sensual kiss.  He chuckled low in his throat when he released me, my eyes heavy lidded, my legs less than steady.  “I can toss you over my shoulder,” he whispered into my hair.  “Carry you to the car, whisk you away home,” he nibbled at my neck.  “Spend the entire night making you scream…”

It took every ounce of strength I had, but I managed somehow to gently push him away.  “It’s only three nights,” I purred softly.  “And it’ll be worth it… I promise.”

He growled briefly, nipping at my lips.  “If you insist…”  Another searing kiss, and he stepped off the porch.  “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you, too,” I pressed my hand over my heart.  “Get your Hank squared away; next time I see you, I want you all to myself until you have to be in front of a camera.”

“Yes ma’am,” he drawled adorably, tipping an imaginary Stetson.  “I reckon that’s a request I’d be happy to oblige.”  We laughed briefly together, and he sighed heavily.  “I love you, beautiful girl.”

 I swallowed the lump in my throat.  “I love you, too, Tom; so, so much.”  I watched him walk to the Jag, his long, lean form never failing to hypnotize me.  ‘See you Saturday?”

His smile was dazzling as he opened the door.  “I’ll be the one waiting at the end of the aisle.”


	35. Chapter 35

I blinked my eyes open on Saturday morning to the sound of my text alert.  I smiled widely at the ceiling before rolling over to grab my phone from the nightstand, knowing it could only be one person attempting to rouse me so early. 

_Good morning, sweet. Dreamed of you all night, woke up thinking of you. The run didn’t help.  The cold shower didn’t help. How angry will you be if I’m waiting at the altar with a raging hard-on?_

I covered my laughing mouth with my hand before replying.

  _I won’t be angry at all.  Your mum, however, might be a tad embarrassed…_

I stretched my arms over my head, yawning as I awaited his response.

  _This is bad, darling.  You mentioned my mum, and I’m still at full mast._

My giggle dissolved into a moan as I envisioned him, lounging on the bed, palming his cock as he waited to see if I would play.

  _Then have a wank, you naughty boy.  I have to get ready for my wedding._

In the silence, I could hear his groan of frustration, see his head pressing back into the pillow.

  _Only you are worth this kind of torture._

I stroked my finger over the words, then quickly typed out my apology.

  _I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Promise._

 A moment passed, and my phone rang.  I bit my lip for a moment before answering.

 “I’ll behave, I promise,” he purred.  “I just need to hear your voice, love.”

 “Tom,” I sighed.  “I miss you so much.”

 “I miss you, too, darling.”  I could hear him shifting against his pillows.  “You’ve no idea…”

 I pressed my thighs together against the ache between them.  “Oh, I’m pretty sure I have some idea.”

 “Eheheheheheh.”

 I caught a lock of my hair and twisted it around one finger.  “Ready for Louisiana?”

 “I reckon I am, sweet darlin’,” his perfect southern drawl sent goosebumps across my skin.  “Packed up the git-tar last night, got m’boots waitin’ by the front door.”

I grinned.  “Got the re-write down?”

 “I do,” he affirmed.  “The scenes in question flow much better now.”

 “Good,” I stretched and yawned once more, then rolled over again, gazing at my dress hanging from the closet door.  “Then what say you head over this direction later on this afternoon?”

 “Mmm,” he hummed quietly.  “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away, sweetheart.”

 A soft knock at my door, and Emma’s voice drifted from the other side.  “Michelle?  Are you awake?”

 “I am,” I called out.  “Just a second.  Tom,” I murmured, “I have to go.”

 “All right, love,” he sighed.  “Four-thirty?”

 “Four-thirty.”

 “I love you, beautiful girl.”

 “Oh, Tom,” I shivered.  “I love you, too.”

 The line disconnected, and I took a moment to hug the phone to my chest.  “Come on in, Emma.”

 The door slid slowly open, and her curious blue eyes peeked in through the crack.  “I’m not disturbing?”  I shook my head, waving her inside.  She closed the door firmly behind her, walking to the closet and gently caressing the clear plastic bag that held my gown.  “Where’s the after-dress?”

 “It’s in there,” I assured her.  “At the back.”  Her excited grin was contagious, and I nodded when she plucked inquisitively at the zipper.  I beamed as she slid it open, carefully slipping the hangers free so she could admire the two dresses, identical save for the length of the skirts. 

 “They’re so perfect,” she mused happily.  “Tom is going to lose his mind.”  Her posture shifted a bit, stiffening ever so slightly, and I pushed myself up against the headboard, patting the mattress next to me.

 “Have a seat, Em,” I invited.  “Tell me what’s up.”

 She paused for a moment, then crossed the room to sit on the bed.  Her cheeks flushed a bit, and it was then that I noticed an envelope in her hand.  She tapped it nervously against her fingertips.  “I… I have something for you.”  She tucked her hair behind her ear.  “I guess you could call it a kind of wedding present.  But… I just thought…”  She twirled the envelope between her fingers.  “I figured it would be better if I gave it to you now… before…”  She groped for words a moment longer, then gave up, closing her mouth and holding it out for me to take. 

 I turned it in my hands, my eyes narrowed ever so slightly.  “Shouldn’t I wait for your brother?”  She shook her head, but offered no further explanation.  With a shrug, I slid a fingernail under the seal, tearing it open carefully.  Inside was a three by five photograph.  In it, Emma was leaning against a pier somewhere, her sunglasses pushed back on her head, her hands waving at the person snapping the picture.  Dressed in a halter top and shorts, she was the image of summer; bright, bubbly, happy.  I looked up at her, smiling but confused.  “It’s a beautiful picture,” I teased.  “But I don’t understand.”  I flipped it over, finding nothing but the print stamp on the back.  “Are you… taking us fishing?  Sending us on a cruise? Did you… buy us a jet ski?  A boat?”  I bounced excitedly on the bed.  “I always wanted a boat…”

 She exhaled a small laugh through her nose.  “No.  Look closer.”

 I did, and noticed two small arrows drawn in the margins, pointing at her bared stomach.  I glanced up at her, and the weight of her expression sent the blood draining out of my face in a rush.  “Emma…”

 She caught my hands in hers before I could continue.  “Michelle, I don’t expect you to be comfortable with this right away.  That’s why I don’t want Tom to know.  Not yet.  I don’t want you to feel any pressure.  But Michelle… when the time is right…”  Her eyes were shining with hopeful tears.

 I shook my head violently.  “Emma… I can’t… I can’t ask you…”

“You’re not asking,” she insisted.  “I’m offering.”

“It’s such a sweet gesture,” I squeezed her fingers in mine.  “It really is.  And I love you for it, so, so much.  But… oh, God, Em… I don’t know.”  I looked into her eyes, my own tears beginning to slide down my cheeks.  “It’s so much.  You’re so wonderful, so amazing… but do you understand exactly what you’re offering here?”

“Michelle,” her tone was gently scolding.  “Do you honestly think I would do something like this without seriously researching all the implications?”  She lay her forehead against mine.  “I’ve become well acquainted with the… procedures… involved over the last couple of weeks.  And frankly?  It sounds like your end of the deal is far more difficult than mine would be.”

“Only at the beginning,” I pressed.  “Sweetie, you’re basically talking about letting me hijack your entire body for nine months.”

“To see you and Tom cooing over a little niece or nephew… raising a family together… to have a sweet little baby in our lives… to be the really, really cool auntie!  I mean, seriously, think about it: Sarah would have to buy the kid a pony AND car to even come close.”  She giggled a little, reaching up to wipe away my tears.  “Michelle, can’t you understand that I want this as much as you and Tom?”

“Oh, Emma,” I leaned into her palm, covering it with my own.  “Please, please, think about this with me, just for a minute.  It affects everything.  Your health… my God, I would die if something happened to you.  Your work,” I raked my fingers through my hair.  “And what about your life, your relationships?  You deserve all the love and happiness I’ve found with your brother… I would never want to stop you from finding it…”

“Listen to me,” she took my face in her hands so I was forced to meet her gaze.  “I have been blessed with excellent health.  There’s no reason to think that a pregnancy would change it.  Work?  I can manage; this isn’t the eighteenth century, after all.  And as far as relationships, well, Jace and I aren’t on our way to the altar anytime soon, but he thinks it’s a brilliant idea…”

“You discussed this with Jace?”  I was incredulous, but she nodded as if it were nothing.

“Of course.  I wanted a man’s opinion; he was the most logical choice.  And if it turns out we aren’t for the long haul, well, then this just becomes part of my introduction: I’m Emma, I’m an actress, my brother is Loki, I’m planning to surrogate for him and his wife when they’re ready.”

A tiny laugh squeaked out of my throat.  “You make it sound so simple.”

“Well, maybe not simple,” she conceded.  “Logical?  Absolutely.”

We sat in silence for a moment, as I stared down at the photograph.  “You fucking Hiddlestons,” I breathed at last.  “Never ceasing to amaze.”

She bounced against the mattress.  “Is that a yes?”  My gaze shot quickly to hers, and she slouched a little, her hands up in surrender.  “Sorry, sorry.  No pressure.”

I looked at her, long and hard, and felt fresh tears welling up in my eyes.  “You really mean it, don’t you?”  She nodded, and I wound my arms around her neck, crying quietly into her hair.  “Oh, God, Em…I love you.  Thank you.  Thank you so, so much.”

"Big sister,” she kissed my cheek.  “I love you, too.”

 We held each other for a few long moments, until the jangling of my alarm startled us both, making us jump and giggle.  She took my face in her hands once more, gently wiping the tears from my cheeks.  “Well, come on then!  It’s time to get up!  It’s your wedding day!”

 Ten minutes later, I stood beneath the stream of the shower, letting the water pull my hair back from my face, down past my shoulders and spine.  I inspected my manicured fingers and toes as I rubbed Tom’s favorite body wash between my palms, smoothing it over my arms, my breasts and belly, down to my freshly waxed skin.  I closed my eyes as my slippery fingertips grazed over my newly bare mound, gasping softly as I imagined Tom’s touch exploring the naked flesh.  I could see the surprise in his eyes, hear his growl of desire… _so soft… so sensitive..._.  I trembled as I pictured him on his knees in front of me, his breath hot and moist, his lips teasing the soft curves, his tongue dipping to taste between my folds.  My thumb grazed lightly over my clit; it pushed its proud head towards my touch.  I leaned my forehead against the cool tile, crooked my fingers, his name leaving my mouth in an airy sigh.  “ _Tom_ …”

 “Michelle, dear, the decorators have arrived…”

 I bit back a whine of surprised and embarrassed disappointment as Diana’s knuckles rapped lightly on the door.  “Thank you, Diana, I’ll only be a few minutes.”  My cheeks burned as I twisted the faucet, cooling the water to lessen my desire to dawdle, hearing Tom’s teasing chuckle in the back of my mind.

 By the time I had dressed and descended the stairs, Nikon in hand, preparations were already well underway.  The backyard had been equally divided, half dedicated to an open air ceremony, half tented to host the short buffet reception.  Diana’s pansies and cyclamen and lavender and freesias were in full bloom behind the altar, and the fairy lights strung from the supports that held the canvas ceiling cast a golden glow over the small dance floor and dining tables.  Discreet, understated, elegant; I finished an entire roll of film before I’d even stepped to the kitchen where Sarah was busy directing the caterers.  I was sharing tea and toast with my new family when the doorbell rang, and I squealed like a little girl when Russell and Dennis and Ki crowded into Diana’s foyer.  Introductions were made all around, and within minutes, the entire first floor of the house was full of laughter.

 The stylist from the salon arrived at two o’clock, and the girls floated upstairs with me.  Ki took over with the camera, and when my hair and makeup were in place, she and I discreetly snuck to the bedroom.  She helped me into my trousseau, then snapped a few photos I’d wanted, a risqué little gift I planned to present to Tom on his birthday.  Finally, Emma and Sarah knocked on the door, and my heart began to jackhammer in my chest as they buttoned my dress into place.  Sarah was clipping my veil into the curls piled atop my head when the familiar growl of a well-tuned engine floated up to the window.  I bolted upright, only to have both of my new sisters grab my shoulders to push me back down.  “Don’t you dare!”

 “Oh, come on!” I whined.  “Just a peek…”

 With a groan of exasperated amusement, they moved to the window, spreading the curtain for me to conceal myself behind. I curled my fingers around the seam, pulling it back just a bit.

 He climbed from the car with fluid grace and I held my breath a moment as I took in the sight of him, my impossible dream come true.  Long and lean and muscular, his tuxedo hugged close in all the right places.  Freshly shaven, the angles of his face were softened by the flush in his cheeks; his eyes were bright, crinkled at the edges as his mother crossed the driveway to greet him.  Fingers of his natural golden blonde stretched up into the brown of his feathery, mildly tamed curls; one fell rakishly across his forehead as he wrapped Diana in a warm hug.  I watched her smooth it back, her palm continuing down to caress his dimpled cheek, and blinked against the tiny sting of tears.

 “All right,” Sarah tugged at my arm.  “That’s enough.”  I took my seat in front of the vanity once more, smiling at her through my reflection as she secured the last clip on the veil and fluffed it down my back.  “My brother chose well,” she praised quietly.

 “Thank you,” I reached back and squeezed her hand.

 A knock at the door, and Russell was pushing it open, a white florist box in his hands.  “Everybody decent?”  He was greeted with giggles, and gently pushed his way to my side.  “Your groom is here, kitten.”

 “I saw,” I grinned as he leaned in to kiss my cheek.

 “You ladies better get down there and hold him back.  Last I saw, he was prowling the staircase…”  Emma and Sarah exchanged wide-eyed looks of alarm before scurrying out the door.  Ki snapped one more shot of Russ straightening one of the chains of my necklace, then excused herself as well as he sank down on the corner of the bed.  “You gonna open that?”  He nodded at the large square box.

 Taking a deep breath, I removed the lid and plucked aside the tissue paper.  The room filled with the soft sweet scent of lilies and orchids, and I lifted the thick cluster of stems bound in violet satin. 

 “Wow,” Russ breathed.  “You’re gonna marry him.”

 “Yep,” I buried my nose in the purple heart of one sweet blossom.  “I’m gonna marry him.”

 “Your dad would have been proud.”

 I closed my eyes against the tears.  “Yes, he would.”

 He rose silently to his feet, leaned over, pressed a kiss to the top of my head.  “I’ll see you down there, kitten.”  A moment later, the door clicked shut, and I was alone. 

 I sat in the silence for a moment before rising, crossing the room to where my purse hung by the bedside table.  I unzipped it and reached inside, pulling out the photograph I’d taken from my parents house before packing all else away, a snapshot taken at a late spring picnic.  My mother sipping lemonade, my father’s arm around her waist.   Her belly just starting to swell under her peasant blouse, at that moment still home to two growing embryos.  My first family; I smiled down at us with dry eyes before tucking the picture carefully into the depths of my bouquet. 

 My phone chimed from the tabletop, Tom’s name beside the text alert.

  _I’ve crossed an ocean of time from our last kiss until now, and still a mountain of stairs between us._

_I’ll stand and I’ll wait, but come to me quickly, and soon. I’ve held my breath too long, my heart asleep in my chest.  Come to me and let me live, my love, my life, my bride, my wife._

_“A heaven on earth I’ve won by wooing thee.”_

I took a deep breath, held it, exhaled.

 “I’m coming, Tom.  I’m coming.”

 Ki was waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase.  “Coast is clear,” she grinned, offering me a hand and fluffing out my train so that it wouldn’t get caught on my heels.  “It took Thor to clear it, but you’re safe.”  She gently straightened the dangle of my earring.  “He looks like a kid on Christmas morning.”  She snapped a quick picture, then kissed my cheek even quicker.  “You ready?”

I blew my breath out through pursed lips.  “Ten minutes?”

“Ten minutes,” she dropped me a wink.  “You look gorgeous.”  She disappeared around the corner, and I drew in a deep breath.  I was about to make my way through to the back door when a knock at the front turned my head.  I glanced out the window at the assembly in the back yard, wondering exactly which guest was tardy.  When the knock rattled again, I realized there was no one else in the house to answer it.  With a small laugh, I collected my skirt in my hand and crossed to the foyer.  I swung open the door, only to gasp softly when I found myself face to face with Tom’s father.

His jaw dropped in surprise.  “Oh!  Oh, my dear,” he fumbled nervously at his tie.  “I – I – I’m so very sorry.”

“Mr. Hiddleston,” I shifted uncomfortably on my heels.

“You look lovely, my dear, a vision, really.”  His face suddenly crooked in confusion.  “What on earth are you doing answering the door?”

I laughed a little.  “Everyone else is out back.”

“Ah!  Yes… well… waiting on you, I guess.”

I nodded briefly.  “Would… would you like to come in?”

He appeared shocked that I would offer, and he ducked his head humbly.  “I… yes, very much, thank you.”  He shuffled inside, walking absently into the living room.  I was opening my mouth to excuse myself when he turned to me, red faced and stammering ever so slightly.  “Michelle, I was an absolute monster to you.  My… my words… my b-behavior… egregious and unforgivable.”

“Yes, that’s about right,” I nodded, my tone slightly kinder than my words.

He swallowed miserably.  “I… I haven’t… related well… to Thomas… for a very long time.”

I nodded again.  “There’s an understatement.”  The anguish in his eyes made me lift my hand in apology.  “Sorry.”

“No… no… I deserve it.”  He sank down on the sofa, shoulders slumped.  “Everything he said… it was all the truth, you know.”

“I’ve never known Tom to lie.”

“It’s no excuse, you know,” he lifted slightly red-rimmed eyes to mine.  “But it does explain a bit of my reaction to your… condition.”  I lifted my head defensively, and he sat straighter on the edge of the cushion.  “Please, my dear, please hear me out!  I don’t mean to insult you, I truly don’t!”  He wrung his hands a bit desperately.  “I know how much Thomas loves you!  I know how much you love him!  All it takes is one look at the two of you…”  He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.  “I just… I just didn’t want to see either of you… corroded… by disappointment.  Didn’t want to see that perfect thing you share lost, or tainted, or diminished by… by… the absolute injustice of your circumstances.”  He was silent a moment, then chuckled ruefully.  “I’m so, so sorry, dear.  A ridiculous fear.  Thomas is the bravest man I know, far braver than I’ve ever been.  If there’s a way to be made, he’ll make it.  And if not, he’ll make do.  He always has.”  He rose to his feet, straightening his suit and wiping at his eyes.  “I know I’m not welcome here today, Michelle.  But I had to come, to tell you, both of you, face to face, that I wish for nothing but your long and lasting happiness.” 

He had his hand on the doorknob when I turned to him.  “Would you be willing to say all of that, every word, to your son?”

He blinked.  “If only given the chance.”

I breathed out a heavy sigh, my gaze lifting to the ceiling.  “Come on,” I offered him my elbow.  “Take a walk with me.”

“But,” an expression of incredulous astonishment spread over his face.  “But… you have to…”

“I know,” I squared my shoulders, raised my bouquet.  “Take a walk with me…”


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE/WARNINGS: It may feel like this is the end, but it isn't. There's a little more to the story, and I hope you'll stick around to share it with me...

Ki stood waiting for me at the corner of the tent, and her smile widened in surprise when she saw that I wasn’t alone.  She captured the moment on film before moving to alert the musicians that everything was in place.  I looked up at James, gently squeezing his arm.  “You with me?”

He covered my hand with his own.  “I am, my dear.  Thank you.”

 We could hear the chorus of squeaks and groans of wood as everyone rose from their chairs, and the soft acoustic guitar strains of Canon in D Minor floated to my ears.  I closed my eyes briefly and then, with James at my side, took my first step into my new life.

I always thought I would cry as I made my way down the aisle, but all I could do, from the moment I saw Tom’s face, was grin.  His eyes wide, his jaw slack, a combination of stunned and smitten and breathlessly excited, I couldn’t even tear my eyes away from him to nod magnanimously at our assembled guests. I don’t think he even registered that his father stood next to me until we’d closed more than half the distance between us.   When he did, when his eyes finally cut to the man holding my arm, a beautiful flash of boyish hopefulness rippled through him, and he stood just a bit taller, his shoulders squared a little broader. Emma stood beaming at his elbow, and Russell waited at my side of the altar, his grin every bit as wide as my own.  I could barely feel the ground beneath my feet as James and I came to a halt, as Russ reached out to take my bouquet so James could slip my fingers into Tom’s trembling hands.  “Thomas,” his voice was low, husky.  “I believe I found something of yours.”

Tom’s gaze flickered from my face to his fathers and back again, and I nodded silently.  “Thank you, Dad,” he whispered hoarsely.  James squeezed our clasped hands briefly and, after dropping a small kiss to my forehead, stepped across the aisle, taking a seat on my side of the assembly next to Grace.  Tom’s eyes searched mine, full of buoyant confusion, and I nodded again.  The gratitude and that spread over his expression was indescribable.  My cheeks flushed in delight as the officiate gestured for everyone to sit.  “Michelle has asked to speak a few words to Thomas directly before we begin.”

With all eyes on me, including Tom’s, I swallowed audibly, realizing the little speech I had prepared now required a bit of last minute improvisation.  I glanced over at James, then at the two empty chairs at the front of the assembly.  Taking a deep breath, I lifted my gaze to the oceans of blue that had drawn me in and under so many months before, trusting their light to guide me through.  “Tom,” I braided my fingers through his.  “I know it appears that, in classic wedding tradition, your father just gave me to you.  Well, he may have walked me down the aisle, but he didn’t give me away.  He couldn’t.  I’m not his to give.”  I paused for another deep breath.  “If Jonathan Edward O’Shea were here today, he’d have walked me down the aisle.  But, as much as he might have liked to think so, _he_ wouldn’t have been giving me away.  Because I’m not his to give, either.” 

I felt the first prick of tears behind my eyes as the words, our words, bubbled up behind my lips.  “The truth of the matter is, Tom…” He knew what was coming, his own tears streaking his cheeks.  “… _I’m yours_.  I have been yours from the moment you took my hand for the very first time.  I love you, Tom, and I’m yours.”  He pulled his hands free from mine, only to slide them around my waist and pull my body flush with his.

“I love you, beautiful girl,” he murmured before pressing his lips to mine. 

Our audience was cooing and clapping, and I giggled into Tom’s mouth as the registrar tapped discreetly on our shoulders.  We parted, reluctantly, turning to him with flushed faces.  “You know that one doesn’t count, right?” He winked as everybody laughed.

I’d love to say that I hung on the man’s every word, that every detail of the twenty minute ceremony was etched into my brain, a testimony to the institution I was signing up to be a part of for the rest of my life.  But the truth is, all I remember is Tom.  The way he never stopped touching me from the moment my hand slid into his – squeezing my fingers, nudging against my waist or my hip, caressing my face or my neck.  The crinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth as his smile deepened and relaxed but never completely disappeared.  The way the indigo depths of his eyes drew me in, as they always did, making my heart flutter and my skin flush and my knees tremble.  His words, his voice…

_“Michelle Alannah, I stand before these people today and I take you as my wife.  I promise to ever love you, to ever honor you, to ever cherish you.  I’ll be your fire when the world’s gone cold, I’ll be your calm when the sea’s gone rough.  I’ll be the light you turn to when you find nothing but darkness.  In our adventures, I’ll keep you safe.  In the chaos and insanity, I’ll keep you sane. You’ve given yourself to me, my love, I have nothing to give in return but all that I am, all I ever will be.  You’re the breath in my lungs, the beat in my heart.  ‘Doubt thou that the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move.  Doubt the truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love’.  You are mine, and I am yours.”_

He slipped the band onto my finger, then lifted my hand to his lips, his eyes never breaking from mine.

_Breathe, Michelle. Just breathe._

_“Thomas William, I stand before these people today and I take you as my husband.  I promise to ever love you, to ever honor you, to ever cherish you.  I’ll be the one who waits for you after the masks and make-believe are gone.  I’ll be the one to fill your heart after you’ve poured it out, again and again.  I’ll be the home you come to when you’ve wandered the world and found it wanting.  I’ll be the music when you want to dance and I’ll be the quiet when you need reprieve.  You found me hollow, and you’ve filled me so full that I’ve no choice but to run over with love.  You’re the voice in my head, the words on my page, the song in my soul.  I am yours, and you are mine.”_

His lips were against my forehead as I slid his ring into place.  “I love you,” I murmured against his fingers.

There was a little more after that, but as I said before, I don’t remember it.  There’s only Tom, the flecks of green and gold dancing in his eyes, the errant curl wisping across his forehead, the bow of his lips whispering, “You’re mine… you’re mine…”  The warmth of his fingers around mine, and then his strong arms slipping around me, pulling me close.  The vanilla mint sweetness of his breath filling my mouth, the citrus and cedarwood scent of his skin filling my nose.  I let my eyes close and surrendered to his touch, feeling him lift me effortlessly off my feet as the kiss burned, seared, synched our heartbeat as one and sealed our lives together.

There was an explosion of applause, and then Russell was pressing my bouquet into one hand while Tom tugged at the other.  We hurried down the aisle in a flurry of rose petals, and he whisked me inside, crushing his lips to mine once more, even as he laughed in exuberant delight.  “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…”  I squealed as he spun me around and around, his mouth nibbling down my jaw to my neck, biting playfully at the hollow beneath my ear before setting my on my feet once more.  “You,” he held me briefly at arm’s length.  “Have never looked more incredibly beautiful.”  He let his fingertips dance over the crystals set into the bodice of my dress.  “The purple… just amazing…”

“You like that?” I preened with a grin.  “Sarah’s suggestion, actually.”

“Oh, really,” he hooked a finger into the tiny dip at the center of my cleavage and dragged me close again.  “Clever girls…”  His mouth was on mine once more, his hands spanning my waist, dipping down to the curve of my ass, and I whimpered softly.  I clutched at the lapels of his jacket, silently willing him to drag me to the floor, to bend me over the table, anything to quiet the sudden, screaming need gnawing at my core.  But the door opened and closed behind him, and we were both tackled en masse by squealing sisters and a silently tearful mother.  Hugs and kisses and breathless exclamations, and we were dragged back out to our proper places, receiving our guests as they stepped into our tiny tented paradise for dinner. 

Chris was boisterous and booming, his hug lifting me off the ground as Elsa pressed kisses to Tom’s cheek.  I felt small and shy in Kenneth’s paternally proud presence, but he and his wife Lindsay embraced me with such warmth my eyes misted over once more.  Jessica blazed in, her fiancé in tow, thumbing her approval at my dress.  Ben was regal and shy as Tom rolled his eyes, completely missing the mischievous wink he dropped me while kissing my hand.  Grace was hot on his heels, ever the Southern gentlewoman with her wide-brimmed hat and her lace hanky.  Bill and Susan were weepy and grateful, insisting they would pay us back the airfare until the sad, nostalgic smile in Tom’s eye and the firm shake of his head convinced them otherwise.  And Danny, sweet Danny, in his silk suit and tie… “You know they’re both here, right Chelley?  They’re here, and they’re so damn proud…”  Dennis and Russ, ever the cool cats, breezed past asking about the bar, Ki following behind with rolling eyes. 

And finally, Luke.  Ever present, ever quiet, ever vigilant.  “The car will be here at seven-thirty, and security at the club is confirmed.  Scheduled until two, but page the service if you want to leave earlier…”

Tom cut his monolog off by dragging him into a hug.  “Take the night off, man…”

They were still embracing when James appeared at Tom’s elbow.  He caught my eye, his expression awkward and uncertain, but I lifted my chin a notch, giving him a smile and a nod before laying a hand on Tom’s shoulder.  “My turn,” I pouted.

Luke was smiling as he wound his arms around me, but it wasn’t long before we were both watching as father and son stepped away, one ushering the other to the corner of the garden for a private conversation.  “That’s certainly been a long time coming,” he mused softly.

“I guess so,” I sighed. 

“You’re an amazing woman to allow it,” his arm around me tightened the slightest bit.

I shook my head.  “It’s not my place to stop it.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that…”

I shook my head again, smiling wryly.  “It was never really about me.”

As we watched, James’ hands migrated from wringing at his waist, to gently touching Tom’s elbow, to resting on his shoulders.  Finally, the two men fell into one another in a warm embrace, and I could see Tom shaking ever so slightly as his father lightly patted his back.  “Should one of us go over there?” Luke hummed through a small smile.

“You, sir,” I scolded with a peck on his cheek.  “Were told to take the night off.”  I tossed my head toward the tables with a grin.  “Go sit down.  I can take care of my husband.”

“As you wish,” he dropped a tidy little bow and a playful wink.  “Mrs. Hiddleston.”

I shivered a little at the sound of my new name, then gathered my skirt in my hands.  The two parted as I approached, each wiping at their eyes with the heels of their hands.  James noticed me first, and he extended his arm, winding it around me and kissing my temple.  “Thank you again, my dear.  So very, very much.”  Then, straightening his tie and jacket, he walked to where Emma was waiting for him, bouncing on the balls of her feet.  Tom caught me with his hands on my hips, nuzzling my nose before kissing my lips.

“Are you all right?” I asked when we parted, my fingers stroking the short, soft hair at the base of his skull. 

“I am,” he drew in a deep breath.  “So much better than all right.”  He glanced over at the crowd milling among the tables, waiting for our presence to take their seats.  I rose on my tiptoes to whisper softly in his ear.

“Do we have to go in there?”

 “We do,” he murmured back, lowering his mouth to my neck, his palms caressing my ass in direct contradiction to his rueful tone.

I shuddered, closing my eyes and leaning my weight into him.  “Then let’s go,” the last syllable drawn out in a moan as his teeth scraped my skin.  “Before I melt into a puddle right here at your feet.”

“Oh, no, darling,” he chuckled into my ear.  “You’re not _getting off_ that easily.”  He paused to bite me gently, one more time.  “You’ll melt for me, oh yes.  But only,” he lifted his head to look into my eyes.  “After a long,” he caressed one cheek with his lips.  “Slow,” an identical kiss to the other.  “Burn.”  His hands caught my jaw and his lips covered mine, more than chaste but so much less than the wanton heat I craved.  I was trembling when we he released me, tucking my hand in the crook of his elbow.  “Come on, love,” his smile was dazzling, “let me show off my bride.”

The dinner was relaxed, delightful, Tom waiting on me hand and foot as our guests chatted and laughed and ate and drank.  I’m sure he looked every inch the doting groom, filling my glass, nuzzling my cheek and neck, stroking his touch over my hands and arms.  Of course, no one else could hear the “sweet nothings” he murmured, his mouth so close to my ear his voice vibrated in the center of my head.  No one else could see how his fingers dipped below the fabric of my dress to trace my spine, how they tugged at the organza and silk of my skirt, dragging the hem up so he could feel the lace of my stocking, the bare skin of my thigh.  His eyes shone with naughty mirth when he rose to offer me his hand, the program calling for our first dance as husband and wife.  The guitarist waited until we were at the center of the tiny dance floor, Tom’s arm snug around my waist.  Only then did he begin to strum softly, the notes to “I Won’t Give Up” filling the early evening air.

We’d meant to be gracious, to spend a bar or two swaying in the center of the floor before waving our guests out to join us.  But the rest of the world fell away in those few moments of eternity; those moments where light and breath and warmth existed only to hold and shelter the two of us against one another in a place no one else could possibly ever find.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES/WARNINGS: It's their wedding night, kids. Most definitely NSFW.

The door to the guest room I’d been sleeping in was barely closed before Tom had me pinned against it, his tongue tangled hungrily with mine. I clung to his shoulders as his mouth devoured me, his hands roaming ravenously over every plain and curve of my body, pressing me closer and closer.  “Tom,” I giggled breathlessly when he finally released me, stroking my palm over his jaw, tracing the bow of his lips.  My stomach flipped crazily as he kissed my fingertips, every muscle from my neck to my knees clenching into excited knots.   “Tom…”

“My God, Michelle,” he brushed my hair back from my forehead, his expression swirling with wonder, hunger, happiness, and desire.  “You are so fucking gorgeous.”  He took my hands in his, spreading my arms to drink me in.  I could feel a flush warming my cheeks as his eyes caressed their way down my form and back up again, dancing with boyish delight and determined mischief.  He spun me gently, ducking his head to cover the bared skin of my back with warm, teasing kisses. 

“Tom,” I arched against him, reaching one hand back to scrape my nails lightly over his scalp while the other pressed against my belly to try and quiet the gnawing ache building behind my navel.  “Why don’t you snag some of those buttons while you’re back there?” I coaxed.  “Help me take this off…”

His arms snaked around my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest, his mouth hovering beside my ear. “Take it off?  Oh, no, love…”  He walked me to the edge of the bed with calculated grace, pinning my knees between his legs and the mattress.  He smiled impishly at me from the mirrored closet door, his right eyebrow quirked playfully, rocking me gently in his embrace.  “You had to know,” he chuckled silkily, his gaze never breaking from mine in our reflection.  “That I would simply have to have you in this dress…”  His left hand reached up to trace the right side of my jaw, his thumb and fingers toying gently with the dangle of my earring.  “Now be a good girl,” he pressed the weight of his erection against the swell of my ass.  “And lift your skirt for me.”

He held my gaze in a grip like iron as I began to gather the delicate material in my hands, drawing it up and over my hips.  His thumb brushed over my lips, and I let my tongue dart out to taste the salt of his skin.  He smiled, softly kissing my temple as I pulled the fabric snug around my waist, hugging it to my breasts.  The lower half of my trousseau was left on display, and I shivered as he began to trace his eyes and fingertips along the lines of white lace, the ribbons of violet satin.  “Exquisite,” he breathed, slipping his thumb between the belt and my hip while his fingers plucked teasingly at the tiny purple bow on one suspender.  “You couldn’t look more perfect.”  Flattening his palm against the curve of my stomach, he slid his hand down, and I bit my lip in anticipation. 

His eyes widened as his fingertips found only bare skin beneath the satin of my panties, his jaw unhinging in surprised delight.  “You’re joking...”  I shook my head, and his tongue darted out to lick his lips, his Adam’s apple hitching in his throat as he swallowed heavily.  “Oh, my sweet, clever little minx…” He pressed firmly against the apex of my mound, chuckling at the way it dropped my head back on my neck, my eyes rolling closed as my body arched reflexively beneath his hand.  “You are in for a very long night.”

With that, he sank to his knees behind me, and I shuddered when the heat of his mouth caressed the dip of my spine.  He flickered his tongue against the receptive skin, leaving wet designs for the cool air to pebble into goosebumps.  He ran his palms over the satin that hugged the curves of my buttocks before gripping my hips and turning me around, hooking his fingers under the elastic.  I exhaled a small whimper as he drew the wisp of my panties down, dancing soft, nipping kisses along my lower abdomen.  He nudged carefully at the inside of my leg, signaling for me to step out of them.  “Mmmm,” he fingered the material a moment before tossing it to the bed.  “Soaked through.”   He brushed his fingertips over the flesh previously hidden from him.  “And no wonder…” He smiled up at me, rapt with awe and wolfish hunger before brushing feather light kisses over the curving landscape.  “So soft… so sensitive…”

I moaned quietly, gripping the bunched fabric of my skirt with white knuckles, my pelvis nudging reflexively towards his touch.  His breath was hot and moist, and I could feel the folds between my legs, heavy with welcoming wetness, blossoming in silent invitation.  “Tom…” I swayed ever so slightly on my feet.

 His hands caught my hips gently to steady me, his grin full of compassion and control.  “Are you so eager to be taken, little one?”

“Please, Tom,” I shifted my weight, lifting one foot out of its satin pump.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided me playfully, grasping my ankle and guiding it back into place.  “Keep the heels on, darling,” he whispered, dipping the tip of his tongue into the hollow of my navel.  “Turn back around.  And spread your legs.”

He rose to his feet behind me as I obeyed; his eyes again locked with mine in the mirror as he unbuckled his belt and unfastened his fly.  One arm wound around my waist and he pulled my weight against him.  The velvety skin of his cock brushed tantalizingly in the cleft between my buttocks, so hot, so hard, and I could feel his tip weeping as he nudged it against my tailbone.  “Do you remember,” he asked as his free hand moved to grasp his shaft, milking it slowly from root to tip.  “What I said to you the other day, on the floor of the closet?”

“Yes,” I began to shake from head to toe in anticipation, my teeth literally chattering in my head.

“Tell me, Michelle,” he nibbled softly at the juncture where my neck met my shoulder.  “Tell me what I said to you.”

“Y-y-you said,” I hitched in breath in a fruitless attempt to bring my rampaging nervous system back under control.  “You s-said that… the n-next time you fucked me… I – I’d be your wife.”

“That’s right,” he leaned forward, his weight pushing me down towards the mattress until I lowered my arms to brace myself against it.  “My wife.”  I could feel him guiding his crown to my entrance, and I let my head fall forward, willing my quivering legs to hold me upright just a little longer.  The arm around my waist released me, his hand glided up to catch me beneath my chin, lifting me to face him once more.  “Don’t look away...”

_Oh, God…_

I couldn’t speak, I could only nod, my eyes trained on his as he’d directed.  “Good girl,” he whispered, hooking his chin over my shoulder and pressing his cheek to mine. “Tell me, Michelle.”

I swallowed audibly.  “I’m yours, Tom… I’m y-y-…”

The last syllable died on my lips as he slid forward, smooth and certain, his own eyes closing briefly as his breath hissed out between his teeth.  “Oh, God… Tom…” I cried out, the sensation at once too much and not enough.  I pressed my head back against his shoulder, my gaze still locked on our reflection, my hands fisting the quilt beneath my fingers.

“Shh,” he shushed me, his lids parting once more, the brilliant blue casting the spell that always lulled me under.  “By now, they’ll have noticed we aren’t about.”  He pulled back slowly, only to fill me once more with slow, savage precision.  “They’re downstairs,” another languid roll, another graceful thrust.   “Milling about the yard… making their quiet, polite conversation.”

His next thrust included a brief but brutal grind at its deepest, and I bit back another throaty groan.

 “Sipping more champagne… enjoying a second slice of that decadent chocolate cake.  They’re exchanging side-eye glances… _fuck_...”  That last under his breath as I pushed back to meet him.  “Little winks… _oh, yes_ … little nudges… _fucking Christ_ …”  I twisted my hips over and around him and he growled in response.  “They know what we’re up to, love.”  Thrust.  “No one’s saying anything,” he exhaled a shuddering grunt, his teeth scraping a line from my shoulder to my neck.  “But everybody knows…”

“And when we’ve finished,” his hands on my hips yanked me back into him as he pumped forward, maximum pressure on my g-spot making me yelp.  “When we’ve changed and coiffed and gone back down for our goodbyes…”  His fingertips clutched me hard enough to dimple my flesh.  “They still won’t say anything.”  Another lunge forward as he dragged me back.  “They’ll smile politely… _that’s it_ … they’ll give you hugs… _fuck, yes_ … they’ll kiss your flushed cheeks.”  He nudged my legs a little wider, dipped his hips a little lower before driving into me again, the delicious sensation of the new angle forcing me to bite back a scream.  “They’ll be on their way without a word… _eheheheh_ … But they’ll know, Michelle… my sweet little wife.”  His hand slid between my legs and I sobbed softly as he began to tenderly rub my swollen clitoris. 

My eyes flew wide as the orgasm struck, like lightning, out of nowhere.  “Oh, fuck… **_TOM!_** ”  The bed linens absorbed my surprised shriek as my entire body went rigid in his arms, surge after surge of white hot electricity licking its way along every muscle and nerve.

 I heard his delighted chuckle drift above the grinding of his teeth as he snapped his hips forward, determined, throbbing against the fluttering, vise-like grip of my walls.  “Eager little bird,” he soothed.  “It’s all right…”  He rolled against me, again and again, drawing out my climax like a blade.  When my brain unscrambled and my eyes refocused, his expression in the mirror was near perfect satisfaction.

“Oh, yes, Michelle,” he nuzzled my cheek, never missing a thrust.  “They’ll know.  Because even if you manage to chase the blush from your face… _mmm, yes_ … Even if you manage to hide the evidence of my mouth on your skin under the spill of your hair,” he bit down on my neck, tugging carefully at the flesh before releasing.  “Even if you manage to clean away all of my come that will be dripping down your thighs… _oh, you **like** the sound of that, don’t you_ …they’ll still know.  Because the light… _fuck_ … in your eyes… _fuck, yes_ … when I’m done with you… _oh, God, yes_ … will give us away, love.  You might as well… _oooh_ … wear a neon sign… _yes_ … that says… _oh, yes, love_ … ‘Thanks to my husband’… _yes, Michelle, yes_ … ‘I’ve just been well and truly fucked’… _oh, fucking hell_... **_yes_**!”

His gaze never once waivered from mine, his rhythm never faltered.  By the time he was stepping to the edge of the precipice, I was already there again, my mind silently begging as my body coiled into a tightly wound fuse, awaiting his word that was the strike of the match.  So when his arms hooked up over my shoulders, when his legs braced against the bed frame to support us both, when his voice commanded my release before his teeth set into my neck, all I had to do was close my eyes and fall. 

When I opened them again, we were panting audibly, curled together on the mattress.  Tom was spooned against my back, his breath tickling the hairs at the nape of my neck.  A feline smile curled my lips and I stretched sensuously in his arms before rolling over to face him.  I don’t know if it was the thrill of his soliloquy still echoing in my head, or the thrill of having been well and truly fucked by my husband, or if it was both.  But I felt _awake_ … _alive_ … and I could see that energy shining back at me through Tom’s gorgeous eyes.  Reaching out, I grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him close, squirming unashamed against him.  I teased my tongue between his lips; he chuckled into my mouth. 

We pushed ourselves up, glassy-eyed and giggling, and I offered him my back.  I shivered deliciously as his knuckles grazed their way down my spine, unbuttoning my gown.  I stepped out of it and returned it to its hanger quickly, as Tom stripped his jacket and tie long enough to change his shirt.  I was reaching for my panties when he clicked his tongue at me, shaking his head.  “Are you fond of those, sweetheart?”

I glanced down at the set that Emma and I had searched four different boutiques to find.  “Actually… yes, I am.”

“Then I’d leave them off, if I were you…”

I blanched, a little incredulous.  “Tom…”

He shrugged, his tongue caught in his toothy grin.  “Do what you like, just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Blowing my bangs off my forehead, I tossed the scrap of satin into my suitcase at the bedside.  Tom stepped close to catch me in his arms for a breathless kiss.  “I’ll go see about the car,” he murmured softly, caressing my cheek. 

I nodded with a smile.  “And send Emma up, will you?  I need a little help with this dress, too.”


	38. Chapter 38

I managed to secure enough of the buttons on my after-dress to shrug myself into it before Emma knocked on the door.  I straightened most of the jeweled clips in my hair as she finished buttoning the rest of the bodice, but it was clear a few were a lost cause.  I tugged them free, planning to re-secure them as best I could, until Emma snatched them from my hands.  She ran her fingers through the errant tendrils, separating the curls and letting them cascade down my neck and back.  I had to admit, the results weren’t half-bad, giving me a wanton, sexily disheveled air.  I leaned into the vanity mirror to swipe a fresh coat of soft crimson over my lips, then straightened my necklace and earrings. 

Tom was standing at the foot of the stairs, holding our coats and chatting with Ben and Chris, when Emma and I emerged on the landing above.  Once again, I delighted in watching his facial muscles fail him, his expression sagging into shocked, hungry delight at the sight of this dress, identical to my gown in every detail save one: this skirt was only just long enough to cover the tops of my white silk stockings.  Lack of certain undergarments kept me a bit on edge as I descended the staircase, worried I would flash all and sundry to the grinning men who stood waiting at the bottom.  But I managed to make it discreetly to Tom’s side, and his playful arm around my waist belied the searing heat smoldering in his eyes. 

Our guests assembled quickly at the door for hugs and kisses and well-wishes, even those who would momentarily be piling into their own cars to join us for the after party.  Tom slipped away from me for a moment as I hugged his proud, if slightly tearful, mother and accepted another hand-squeeze and cheek kiss from his father.  But I only had a moment to miss him before he was back, having tossed our coats into the backseat of the waiting limo, his hands tugging just a bit impatiently at my waist.  I gave one last wave, then smiled gratefully up at him as his body obscured mine between the car and the door, insuring my maiden dignity as I slipped inside. 

The vehicle had barely left the driveway, and he was on me, ravenous, resolute.  He moved me swiftly and easily into the corner, his mouth hungry and insistent against mine, drawing the air from my lungs as he sucked rhythmically at my tongue.  I surrendered eagerly to his kisses, reclining against the soft leather seat as his hands stroked fire into my thighs, his fingers slipping ever so teasingly under the tops of my stockings.  Then, with a strangled growl, he pulled away from me abruptly.  “Sorry, darling,” he grinned, nipping at my bottom lip, “I simply must have another look.”  With that, he gripped my hips and pulled me supine, diving head first beneath my skirt.

“Tom…” I gasped as his mouth grazed my bare mound, his hands pushing the short layers of fabric up past my navel.  “Oh, my God…”

“Oh, sweetheart,” his fingertips stroked over me in almost reverent awe.  “Such a delightful surprise.”  He brushed soft, airy kisses over every inch of skin.

“Tom,” I objected weakly, absurdly, as my body reacted with a mind of its own, lifting off the seat in almost whorish offering.  “The driver…”

“Cannot see a thing,” he assured me, teasing the plump curve of my mons with the tip of his tongue.  “And, if you’re a very good girl, he won’t be able to hear a thing, either.”  He nibbled gently at the hood of flesh that barely concealed my hardening clitoris, and I struggled to bite back the moan that was rising in my throat.

“Tom,” I whimpered.  “What if I can’t be a very good girl?”

His eyes met mine from the valley between my legs, dark and desirous, and I could see his Loki in the cock of his eyebrow, the curl of his grin.  “Well then, my sweet… be a very bad girl…”  With that, his fingers spread me wide, exposing my saturated folds to the cool evening air, and his lips closed around my clit, sucking softly but insistently. 

I bucked sharply into his mouth, drowning out his pleased chuckle with a tortured cry of my own.  “Jesus… Tom… oh, my God…”He hummed against the little pearl between his lips, the vibrations making my hips stutter and jerk, and my hands fluttered like birds, scrabbling for purchase against the seat cushions.  Tom reached out and caught my wrists easily, guiding my hands to the back of his head.  My fingers curled reflexively in his golden brown hair, but my arms locked in place, frozen, quivering.  Releasing my flesh with an audible pop, he lifted his face just an inch, the glow from the dim cabin lights gleaming in my fluids on his skin. 

“Do not worry about hurting me, love,” he reassured, lashing my throbbing nub with quick, firm flickers of his tongue.  “Do what you will… my mouth is yours to command.”  A lascivious wink, and he buried his face in my wetness once more.

“Fuck… Tom…” I keened softly, grabbing at him in earnest.  He’d abandoned my clit in favor of tracing my lips, deep, sweeping passes of his tongue; before I realized it, I had shifted my body on the seat so that I could open more to him, tugging his locks to direct his exploration.  He hummed his approval, his hands guiding both my legs more comfortably over his shoulders, stroking sensually against the outside of my thighs.  When he finally pressed his tongue into me, past the quivering muscles at my entrance, I purred like a kitten, undulating my body in shameless response. 

“Oooh, that’s it, little one,” he encouraged, kissing, licking, suckling like a man starving.  “Fuck this sweet little cunt into my mouth…”

“Oh… Tom…” I rolled my head back on my neck, my jaw clenched, my eyes closed. 

“Mmm, yes… oh, good girl… God, you taste so fucking sweet…”

I was losing myself in the ecstasy of the act, and I knew it, my hands yanking at his scalp, my back arching, my hips twisting.  The voice in my head that had been screaming his name stuttered briefly, and all at once I froze, eyes wide, body tensed in self-conscious restraint.

Tom sensed the change immediately.  “Oh, no, sweet,” he scolded impishly.  “I wouldn’t hold back now if I were you.”  I could hear the unspoken command in his voice, and I forced my eyes open to meet his.  “We’ll stay parked by the curb at the front door all night if we have to, love…” He nipped at the inside of my thigh.  “You are not getting out of this car until you’ve come all over my mouth.”  He claimed my clit once more, sucking it firmly between his lips, teasing his tongue against it in slow, pulsating bursts.

“Oh, God, Tom…” I sobbed, gripping his hair to angle his neck, rocking against his lips and chin.  He grunted in delighted surprise, biting down ever so gently on the delicate bud between his teeth.  His mouth beckoned, and my body obeyed, trembling, writhing, answering every touch with quivering gratitude.  The rush of sensation began to coalesce in the deepest pit of my stomach, coiling impossibly tight.  And as my shaking thighs clamped together, trapping his face between them, as the swelling tide rose for the crash to shore, he slipped a hand between my legs, and two long fingers thrust with laser precision, curling expertly against the spot he’d come to know so well.

My scream would have shattered the glass, I’m certain, had the intensity of my orgasm not completely robbed me of my voice.  Instead, my back arched until the top of my head was flush with the seat, every muscle on lockdown, save for those that convulsed helplessly beneath the electric impulse of his touch.  His fingertips never relented, but stayed pressed against my g-spot while his lips worked over my clit, strong and demanding with the first crash of the wave, then with softer, sweeter strokes as it receded, until he was soothing the aftershocks with gentle kisses and laps of his tongue. Only when he was certain that the final spasm had long died did he slip his fingers carefully from inside me, sucking them clean as he sat us both up, gathering my shivering form into his arms.  He wrapped my coat around me, kissing me tenderly as he guided my arms into the sleeves and pulled the lapels closed over my chest.  “Feeling all right, love?” He asked as I burrowed into his chest.

“Feeling exquisite,” I beamed up at him as he nuzzled my forehead.

“Such a good girl…”

There was indeed a throng assembled outside The Ministry of Sound, but it was not nearly the mass I’d feared it might be.  Again the perfect gentleman, Tom positioned himself between the car and the crowd, allowing me to climb from the backseat with dignity.  “Do I look all right?” I chewed a bit at my lower lip, fluffing my hair and straightening my bodice.

“You look incredible, darling,” Tom grinned ear to ear.  “I told you – freshly fucked suits you.”

Before I could react, he’d wound an arm around me and swept me onto the sidewalk, waving at the now-screaming multitude with the gracious aplomb he’d become so well known for demonstrating.  The line of security was tight as a drum, but the whistles and calls could not be stopped, and as we drew near the door, he rested his left hand ruefully against his chest.  “I’m so sorry, darlings… so sorry… I’m only here for one lady tonight…” He spun me with a flourish, placing a knightly kiss to the knuckles of my left hand, a wicked glint in his eye.

I narrowed my own gaze at him above my own impish smile.  “I thought I was the clever little minx…”

We were ushered inside to the crowd of VIP tables at the back, where many of our friends were already assembled with champagne and chocolates.  A boisterous toast, a few sips from my glass, and then Tom was stripping our coats away and whirling me in his arms, leading me to the heart of the crowd on the dance floor.  I expected to spend the rest of the night lost in the throbbing rhythm and pulsing lights, spinning and twisting and laughing with light-hearted ease. 

I could not have been more mistaken. 

From the transition beats of the first song to the next, it seemed that, protected by the oblivious mass of moving bodies, Tom was on a single-minded mission to drive me out of my head.  And it wasn’t just the ever-present hungry twinkle in his intense eye contact, the flirty crook of that infernal right eyebrow, or the impossibly delicious twisting of his lips over his teeth and tongue.  It wasn’t just the amazing, fluid motion of his body as it followed the commands of the music, muscle and sinew rippling under linen and skin.  Moving behind me to hold my swaying hips, he would press his hard-on to the swell of my ass, his mouth against my ear.  “Feel what you do to me, darling?”  Twirling me out to arm’s length before pulling me back, his hands would pass firmly over my breasts.  “Exactly how hard are you nipples right now, sweet?”  Holding me against him during the slower, more urgent tunes, his mouth ghosting over mine in teasing, barely there kisses.  “I think those lovely legs of yours left lace-burns on my face…”

And then, in the middle of one particularly pulse-pounding bass line, after spinning me round, he pulled me close.  Passing one hand along the inside of my thigh underneath my skirt, he grinned in Cheshire amusement.  “You’ve dripped to the tops of your stockings, love...”

“ _That’s it_!” I seethed.  His tie hung loose around his neck; I yoked him by it anyway, dragging him off the dance floor.  I had no idea where I was going until my eyes lit on a door, discreetly labeled “Private Parties Only”. 

The door swung open easily to a lushly carpeted staircase that led to the second floor.  Pushing Tom back against it, I twisted the lock, then backed slowly away from him. The look on his face was shocked glee and elation as he pushed his already rolled cuffs a bit higher on his elbows.  “What are you up to, little minx?”

I hummed briefly, holding the wrought iron handrail as I stepped backward onto the first step, then the second.  “Your little minx,” I purred.  “Your little darling.  Your love… your sweet… your little bird.”  He nodded silently at every endearment.  “Well, _Thomas_ …” I hissed a little.  “Your little _wife_ has taken all the teasing she can handle.”  I slid the front of the toe of one satin heel along the back of the opposite leg, my fingers teasingly fluffing the hem of my skirt, offering him glimpses of damp lace and bare skin.  “Either you get your gorgeous ass over here and _claim me now_ or…”

He pounced with impossible speed, and I found myself on my back, the edge of one stair digging into my spine, another into my buttocks.  Tom was over me, around me, lips and tongue and teeth, hands and fingers and hot, seeking cock.  I grabbed desperately at the taut muscles of his buttocks as he drove into me hard, his head snapping up with a grunt when I dug in my nails.  “Michelle, what the fuck?”

I smirked at him below flirty, half-lidded eyes.  “Bruises on your ass, or bruises on my wrists, Tom.  It’s all the same to me.”

He snarled at me briefly, but the joy in his eyes was unmistakable.  “Topping from bottom might just earn you a bruise or two on your own sweet little ass…”

I shivered in delight.  “Will you fuck me after?” I asked sweetly.

“Oh,” he traced the tip of his tongue over my lips as his long fingers wrapped around my wrists.  “Sweet love,” he nuzzled his nose against mine.  “Be my good girl for the rest of the night… and I’ll fuck you _during_ …”

I moaned softly at the visual that rose in my mind, tipping my head back and offering him my throat.  He claimed it eagerly, his hands pinning mine to the stair above me as he thrust, hard, deep, steady.  “Tell me, Michelle,” he whispered into my skin, soothing the marks from his teeth with sweet, tender kisses. 

I smiled, sliding my legs up over his hips.  “I’m yours, Tom.  Oh, God… I’m yours… I’m yours… I’m yours…”


	39. Chapter 39

I’m still not exactly sure how we made it out of that stairwell unaccosted, but somehow, we managed.  The music still throbbed, the lights still flashed and swirled, but our energy had shifted, changed.  All I wanted was Tom, alone, in my arms, and I could see identical desire mirrored back at me in his eyes,  We stumbled to the table to fetch our coats and to make our apologies to our friends, citing our travel plans for the following day as our reason for leaving the club before midnight.   It was almost comical, the knowing nods and amused expressions that accepted our demurrals, but both Tom and I were too deep in afterglow to care.  We made our way to the discreet back exit and tumbled into the waiting limo, where I tucked myself into a satisfied ball on the seat, my heels kicked to the floor, my head in Tom’s lap.  His fingers curled around the nape of my neck, gently possessive; I’d never felt more whole in my life.  He let me doze the entire trip, rousing me with a soft and sweet, “We’re home, Mrs. Hiddleston” before helping me from the backseat.  I leaned heavily against him as he unlocked the door, then squealed in delight as he swept me off my feet, carrying me over the threshold, through the foyer, up the stairs.  Lips tangled, we undressed each other with loving care before slipping into bed.

I had thought that, once we’d settled beneath the sheets, all Tom would want to do was sleep.  But when he moved me onto my back, his body above mine, I could feel some very warm, very hard evidence to the contrary pressing against the inside of my thigh.  “Again?” I giggled quietly as he nodded, a rakish grin curling his lips.  “Maybe your fans are right when they speculate that you actually are a god…”

“Not a god,” he mused, dancing his open mouth over my forehead, down my cheek.  “Just a man,” he breathed, his gaze locking with mine.  “A man very much in love with the woman in his arms.”

I caressed his jaw with my fingertips.  “She’s very much in love with you,” I whispered.

“I know,” he cocked a proud eyebrow.  “She married me.”

We lay in silence for a moment, drinking one another in.  And then he moved, slow and certain, his eyes never leaving mine.  He filled me to the brim, shuddering ever so slightly as my muscles clenched to draw him deeper.  I lost myself easily in the blue-green depths of his eyes that never closed for longer than a blink, and his warm, wonderful mouth that coaxed kiss after kiss from my own.  He rocked in my embrace, driving us to one last heart-pounding culmination before collapsing, asleep in moments with his head on my breast, whispered words of love on his lips.

The private Gulfstream jet was a delightful, if decadent, surprise.  We lifted off from the Heathrow tarmac right on schedule, each of us buckled into our own reclining leather seat.  Of course, as soon as the captain pronounced us safe to move about the cabin, Tom did exactly that, taking my hand and escorting me to the stretch of sofa at the back where we could sit and snuggle in each other’s arms.  We joked about the cliché of the honeymoon couple and the Mile High Club; and then we gave in, and became members anyway.

The sun was just rising above the ocean when we touched down in Mahé, and the photos I have of Tom on the deck of the yacht that ferried us to Praslin still turn my insides to jelly.  The private villa could not have been more perfect: the fully stocked kitchen, the stone fireplace, the wall-length sliding glass door to the beachside patio, the double-wide hammock swaying in the warm morning breeze.  We were changing to head to the stretch of shore when he tossed a small, flat box on the bed.  Hidden beneath the tissue paper, the lycra was the perfect shade of violet, the strings sparkling with crystal beads.  “Tom,” I breathed, blushing a little.  “It’s beautiful… but…”

His brow crooked in curious disappointment.  “But what, love?”

“I…” I dropped the bikini back into the box and reached for the tank suit I’d packed myself.  “I think I’d better stick with this.”

His expression darkened even further.  “Why?”

“Well,” I chewed shyly on my lower lip.  “I… I guess I’ve just never seen myself as a bikini girl.”

“Hm,” he sniffed quietly, a teasing light in his eye as he crossed the room to wind his arms around my waist.  “Funny… In my mind’s eye, that’s all I see you in…”  His words trailed off as his mouth found my neck, kissing and nibbling playfully.  I giggled a little as I traced the muscles of his bare back above his board shorts.  “At least try it on for me, love…”  I opened my mouth to protest just as he closed his on that spot beneath my ear, and my entire body melted against him at the warmth of his tongue, the pressure of his teeth.  He chuckled in triumph as he helped me strip away what was left of my clothing, then helped me tie the new suit in place at the center of my back and over each hip.  “Jesus, Michelle,” he breathed as he looked me over, the sudden swelling in his trunks as much a testimony as the hungry look in his eye.

And when I turned to the mirror, I had to admit, the top made the girls look damn good.  But when my eyes travelled lower, they locked on the imperfection that split my belly, the thin, pale line a constant reminder of all I’d rather forget.  I crossed my hands defensively over it, turning back to the bed.  “No,” I sighed quietly.  “I think I like the one-piece better.”

“What?” Tom squawked, catching my arm.  “What are you talking about?  You look delicious,” he wound his arms around me again, moving his hips more fully into the cradle between my thighs.  “Certainly… more accessible…”

“Tom,” I smiled, but it was weak, thin, and I knew it didn’t reach my eyes.  He noticed my hands, still pressed to my belly, and he snorted a not entirely unkind laugh through his nose.

“This?” He scoffed gently, dropping to his knees in front of me and pulling my arms to my sides.  “This is what has you all self-conscious?”  He looked up at me as he ran his fingertips over the break in my skin.  “This gorgeous scar of yours?”

Now it was my turn to snort.  “Gorgeous?”

“Yes,” he answered sincerely before lowering his gaze once more.  “This gorgeous,” he kissed the center, just below my navel.  “Beautiful,” another kiss, at the right.  “Badge of honor,” a kiss to the left, and then he was staring into my eyes once more.  “You think I don’t know your scar?  That I haven’t memorized every inch of it?”  He traced a fingertip over the edge at the right.  “It’s a little wider here,” he breathed, sending goosebumps over my skin.  “If I had to guess, I’d say this is where the incision started.”  He tickled his tongue over the spots to the right and left of my belly button.  “These little dots here…the stitches had to be a bit thicker.”  He moved his mouth to the far left.  “This little jagged spot here,” he swallowed hard.  “Probably… due to a little bit… of tugging… tearing…”  He closed his eyes, and when he pressed his face to my stomach, I could feel just a hint of wetness from his tears.  “Michelle,” he lifted his gaze to me once more, naked adoration streaked across his features.  “I love this scar.  I have you because of this scar.  This scar saved your life.  Stop acting like you have to hide it from me.”

My own tears were threatening to fall onto his upturned face as I slid my fingers into his hair.  “Oh, God, Tom,” I murmured.  “Shut up and kiss me… please…”

He rose to his full height with a laugh, catching my face in his hands and sealing his mouth over mine.

The waves were warm and welcoming, and we spent hours splashing in the crystal blue surf before letting it wash us back to shore.  We lay side by side in the sand, letting the sun bake down and dry our bodies before venturing back to the villa to make lunch.  We discovered, rather hilariously, that it’s a lot harder to make love in a hammock than it looks, but that there’s no sweeter place to bask in the afterglow. We ordered in dinner after showering the sand from our skin, drank wine on the patio.  He spread me on the chaise lounge, ordered me to keep my hands above my head, and went down on me with slow, determined vigor while the moon and stars shone down on our private, erotic paradise.  I was trembling in his arms when he finally carried me to the king sized bed, spooned against my back, and slid easily into me from behind.  One hand clasped gently over my breast, the other strummed softly between my legs.  And his mouth… _oh, God_ … the honeyed sweetness that poured from his mouth in moist, warm whispers.  The “ _yes_ ” and the “ _oooh_ ”, the “ _feels so good_ ” and the “ _fuck_ ”, the “ _so wet_ ” and the “ _so tight_ ”, the moans and the “ _Michelle_ ”, and the “ _mine… mine… mine…_ ”  I was breathlessly begging long before he spilled inside me, my leg thrown back over his thigh, my arm wound up around his neck.  I tugged at his hair when my own orgasm rocketed through me, his approving chuckle hissing over my flushed skin through clenched teeth. 

He was still draped over my back when I awoke the next morning, his deep, even breaths warming the skin at the nape of my neck.  I carefully disentangled myself from his limbs, slipping quietly from the bed and into the bathroom.  I had a gift for him, and I wanted the presentation to be perfect.  I showered quickly, quietly, and threw on a sundress before tiptoeing to the kitchen. 

That’s where he found me half an hour later, pouring coffee into the cup beside his plate.  He shuffled adorably to my side, squinting in the brilliant sunlight, his hand fluffing sleepily through his hair.  His chest was bare above cotton running shorts, and his scent was amazing as he wound an arm around me, cedarwood and citrus and sex.  “Morning, love,” he yawned before pressing a kiss to my temple.

“Morning,” I couldn’t resist running my fingers through the dusting of hair between his pecs, placing a kiss of my own to the skin above his heart.  “Sleep well?”

“Like a rock,” he affirmed, lifting the steaming mug to his lips and taking a sip.  “You’re quite the busy little bird this morning.”  He landed an affectionate smack to my backside before sinking into his chair.  “You’re usually still snoring away under all that hair…”

“I don’t snore!” I blanched, punching his shoulder affectionately when he side-eyed me, nodding as a tiny smirk played about his lips.  I crossed to the counter to fetch the butter and the jam for his English muffin, and then, as he busied himself tucking in, I reached into my bag hanging from the back of one of the barstools.  The manuscript that I’d printed slid easily from inside, and I gazed down at it for a moment, passing a trembling hand over the bland, manila cover that bound it.  Taking a deep breath, I set it carefully beside his arm.

**_Untitled – Michelle O’Shea Hiddleston_ **

His head snapped up, his eyes clear, bright, excited.  “Darling… you’re joking…”

“Final edit,” I confirmed, sinking into the chair beside him.  “I figure… it’s time… I let you read the whole thing.”

“Oh, my God, sweetheart,” he gushed, reaching across the table and pulling me into his arms.  “Thank you, love, thank you!”  His kisses tasted of coffee and strawberries, and I was just beginning to melt into them when he pulled abruptly away.  Without another glance my direction, he flipped the folder open and started to read, absently continuing his breakfast as his eyes scoured line after line.  I shook my head, giggling a little, and turned my attention to my own plate. 

He was still engrossed after I had cleared away the dishes and wiped down the table.  “Tom?”

“Hm?”

I caught the back of his neck in my hands, massaging the sinewy muscles with my fingers and thumbs.  “I was thinking we could head down to the beach again…”

“Mmm, sure.”  He rose from his chair, nose still buried in the pages.  “Sounds good.” 

It was amusing to watch him slip out of his shorts and into his swim trunks without missing a line, and I took his arm, winding it around my neck.  He did tear his eyes from the book long enough to snag his sunglasses, but by the time we arrived on the sugar sand beach, he was completely engrossed once more.   He sprawled in a lounge in the shade of the palm trees and I spread out on one beside him, grinning so broadly my cheeks ached.  “That good, huh?”

“Oh, darling,” he flashed me a brief but radiant smile.  “It’s wonderful.  Truly.  I’m loving it.”

Beaming, I lay the top half of my chaise flat and flipped onto my stomach, happy at that moment to just soak up the warmth and the breeze and to share his silent company.  Tucking my arms beneath my head, I closed my eyes, letting the rhythm of the waves and the sweet cries of the gulls lull me into a blissful doze.

When I roused, the sun was higher in the sky, but Tom was still reclining in his chair, his eyes still glued to the page.  “I feel like a swim,” I sat up, stretching languidly and adjusting the straps on my bikini top before swinging my feet to the sand.  “You?”

“Mmm, okay.” 

I sat for a moment, waiting for him to put down the manuscript.  When he didn’t, I gently nudged his leg.  “Tom?”

His head lifted, finally, but I could tell from his expression that the eyes beneath his Ray Bans were not entirely focused on me.  “I’m sorry, darling… did you say something?”

I chuckled a little.  “Yeah,” I let my hand trail up the inside of his thigh.  “I said I feel like a swim.”

“Oh, brilliant,” he smiled.  “Enjoy, love… I’ll be right here.”

My brow furrowed.  “You don’t…” I couldn’t help but pout my lip a little.  “Want to come with me?”

“Um,” he finished a line, turning the page.  “Yeah, all right, maybe in a little while.  I just want to finish this bit, okay?”

“All right,” I pushed myself up with a sigh.  As I made my way down the sand, I chided myself silently for sulking.  After all, it wasn’t as if Tom were blowing me off for some new popular novel, or even some script or proposal he was considering.  This was _my_ work he was reading, a labor nine months in the making.  And, as we’d agreed before, it was almost as much his story as it was mine.  Shaking off my brood, I dove beneath a rolling wave, sinking into the warm silence of the blue-green depths before kicking my way back to the surface.

 After an hour spent floating in the surf alone, I trudged my way back up the beach, letting myself flop onto his legs.  “Michelle,” he protested with a laugh, “darling, you’re getting me all wet!”

I harrumphed before waggling my eyebrows invitingly.  “We could go back up to the house and you could return the favor…”

He chuckled again, brushing the tiny drops from the pages open in his lap.  “Naughty girl,” he chided absently.

“You know, Tom,” I reached over and covered the text with my hands.  “When I gave it to you, I didn’t mean you had to finish it all in one sitting.”  His smile was cute, if distracted, as I crawled teasingly up the length of his body.  He fumbled the manuscript out from under me as I lay down, pressing my chest to his and nibbling softly at his lips with my own.  He hugged me close, and I lay my cheek against his heart, contentedly listening to the steady throb of his pulse beneath my ear.  Until, that is, I realized that he had the book propped against my spine and was reading it over my head.  “Seriously?”

“I’m sorry, love,” he offered me a guilty little grin.  “You should be flattered!” He continued, a touch of defensive indignation in his tone.  “You’ve poured your heart and soul into these pages… you should be happy that I don’t want to put them aside…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I huffed, rolling off of him and rising to my feet once more.

He caught my hand in a firm but gentle grip.  “You’re not actually angry, are you?”

I chewed on my lower lip for a moment.  “No,” I admitted in a grumble.  “Just,” I stroked my hand up my arm.  “Feeling a little neglected, is all.”

“Aw,” he cooed, pressing a kiss to the inside of my wrist.  “I think I’ve spoiled you, sweet.”  I blanched at his good-humored scolding, and he laughed.  “Maybe you should take this opportunity to re-acquaint yourself with the concept of…” His tongue played mischievously over his lips.  “Delayed gratification…”

It occurred to me to ask him if he should be casting such stones, especially when he flipped the manuscript back up and resumed devouring the pages.  Deciding against baiting him, and reminding myself that he’d put it down eventually, I tugged my hand from his grasp with a sigh.  “I’m going up for a shower.”

“Good girl,” he hummed quietly, flipping another page.  “I’ll be up in a bit.”

Rolling my eyes and blowing my bangs back off my forehead, I left him in the shade, grouching to myself _.  If I had known I was going to lose a chunk of my honeymoon to the damn thing, I’d have waited to give to him ‘til the plane ride home…_

The shower was elegant marble, with dual rainmaker heads to provide spray from both sides.  The ledge carved into one corner mocked me silently as I stepped beneath the warm cascade, sliding my hands over flesh that ached for someone else’s touch.  My fingertips teased delicately over the waxed skin below my navel, sending a shiver up my spine, but the sensation only served to intensify the gnawing hunger between my legs, rather than relieve it.  I groaned in aggravation; I was, indeed, Tom’s, for better or for worse.  My body knew he wanted me to wait; there would be no release until he said otherwise. Scowling, I yanked the elastic from my hair and began to scrub.

The villa was still empty when I emerged half an hour later, dressed, braided, still frustrated.  I glanced out the bay window; Tom still reclined in his chair between the trees, the binder still open in his hands.  Sighing heavily through my nose, I threw together a small lunch: a couple of sandwiches and some fresh fruit.  Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I padded outside, down the gentle slope, and lay the plate in his lap.

“Mm, thank you, love.”

His voice was thin, taut, and I glanced at the open pages.  My breath caught in my chest as I read over his shoulder the description of my reaction to the initial offer from Doubleday, my conversation with Grace, him finding me on the kitchen floor.  Remembering all too well what lay printed on the pages to come, I swallowed the bile that surged up in my throat, bending to place a soft kiss into the curls atop his head.  “I love you, Tom,” I whispered shakily.

“I know you do, sweet,” he answered, just as quiet, reaching up to briefly squeeze the back of my neck.  “I love you, too.”

Slipping the bottle of water into his fingers, I turned and scuttled back up to the patio, my hand pressed to my chest in an effort to quiet my pounding heart.  After pacing the floor for a moment or two, I hurried into the bedroom, finding my satchel and pulling out my laptop.  “Author’s notes,” I muttered to myself as I plugged the machine in and booted it up.  “Afterwords…”

I’m not exactly sure how much time passed.  My fingers that had been clicking away froze above the keyboard when the glass door slid open.  Tom stepped inside, empty plate in one hand, manuscript in the other, finger tucked between the pages to mark the spot where he’d left off.  His face was a bit more pale than it had been and his eyes were red-rimmed but dry.  I wanted to ask if he was all right, but my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth.  So I simply watched in dumb silence as he placed the plate in the sink.  He leaned against the counter for a long moment, his back to me, the air still and quiet. 

Finally, he pushed himself into motion again, crossing slowly to where I sat.  He lay the book on the table and took my face in his hands; I barely had time to gasp before his tongue was pushing its way between my lips.  I could tell at once this was not a kiss meant to entice and seduce us to further entanglement.  It was simply an act of reconnection, a reminder of the link that always existed, whether we were together or not, whether we were touching or not.  He gave and took comfort in equal measure before releasing me, his thumb tracing tenderly over my trembling lips.  “I love you, beautiful girl.”

I smiled shyly up at him.  “I love you, too, Tom.”

Another small kiss to my forehead, and he picked the binder up and walked through the bedroom, into the bathroom.  After a few moments, I could hear the toilet flush, the water running in the sink.  He returned to the living room, having donned a white t-shirt, and he folded himself into the corner of the sofa, opening the pages again.  A deep breath in, out, and I resumed typing.

I only saw him put the manuscript down once more, and I didn’t have to see the words he’d read to know.  He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking, and I let my own tears flow freely down my cheeks.  I watched him rise from the couch and cross to the door, sliding it open so he could step onto the patio and feel the cooling evening breeze on his brow.  He leaned against the balustrade and looked up at the slowly darkening sky, the setting sun blazing in the golden streaks in his hair.  I know, in that moment, he spoke silently to my father.

I have faith that my father answered. 

When he returned to the book a little while later, I knew the rest of the night was a wash.  I phoned out for Thai salads and sushi, making sure to set a plate within Tom’s reach.  I took my own plate into the bedroom, reclining against the pillows and switching on the television.  I ate, I dozed, and when I woke just after midnight, I padded to the living room to find Tom sprawled asleep on the sofa, the open book tented on his chest.  I considered slipping his trunks down his thighs and taking him into my mouth.  I considered simply rousing him, tucking myself under his arm to help him into bed.  In the end, though, I left him asleep, a soft kiss to his slightly parted lips.

“Sweet dreams, Tom… I love you…”


	40. Chapter 40

_Oh, my God… that feels so good…_

I stirred a bit against the mattress, resisting the pull of wakefulness, desperate to sink back into the hot, wet debauchery of the dream.

_Oh, fuck… Tom… just like that… please…_

My own soft whimpers in my ears made me scowl and grit my teeth.

_I don’t want to wake up… this is too fucking good… oh, GOD, Tom, your tongue.  More, please… dear God, more…_

“Eheheheh… Michelle… my love… open your eyes.”

My head thrashed against the pillow.  “Mmmm… no.  Sleeping… dreaming.  Mmmm… God…”

A sharp nip from his teeth at the top of my inner thigh and I squealed, my eyes snapping open.  “Tom…!” 

The complaining whine faded quickly as my finally conscious mind began to grasp what was happening.  My hands were bound, loose but secure, to the headboard of the bed.  Tom had carefully pulled my body down the mattress until my arms were fully extended above my head.  And now, he lay between my legs, his shoulders braced against my thighs, his mouth working its own special brand of magic on the wet, swollen flesh between them.  My moan was a combination of elated relief and agonized longing, and he chuckled against me once more as I lifted my hips in a silent plea.

Using his fingers to spread me wide, he slid his tongue into me, his chin pressing against the bottom of my entrance, his nose gently nudging at my clit.  His eyes slid shut as he savored the sensation of my body blossoming beneath him, beckoning him closer, deeper, the taste of my arousal as it flooded over his lips in a desperately welcoming rush.  Pure instinct gripped me, and I placed my feet flat on the bed, pushing myself up into his mouth.  His hum of approval vibrated through my core, his warm breath caressing my damp skin.  Emboldened, I rocked against him once more, and was rewarded by a flicker of his tongue over my hard, throbbing clit.  Again and again I rolled my hips until every muscle in my legs trembled beneath my growing, aching need.  “Oh… Tom…” his name fell from my lips in a wanton, breathy sigh.

I could feel the curve of his grin against me.  “Still feeling neglected, little one?” He purred, lapping softly at my quivering folds.

 I hummed a little, smiling brazenly to myself.  “Maybe… just a little…”

He laughed, a little surprised, a lot delighted.  “Greedy little minx,” he quipped, another quick catch of his teeth at the juncture where my thigh met my hip.  “I should leave you here squirming until this lesson’s learned…”

I could feel the mattress dip as he shifted away from me; my head snapped up between my stretched arms.  “No!” I yelped piteously.  “No… Tom… I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!  Please…”  I arched my body beneath his amused gaze, enticing him as best I could.  “Please… come back.  I’ll behave, I promise…”

“Mmm-hmm,” he hummed teasingly, mirth dancing beautifully in his clear blue eyes.  “Whatever shall I do with you?”  He crawled above me, nuzzling his nose against my cheek.  “You and this naughty little mouth of yours…” He traced the outline of my parted lips with the tip of his tongue.  “It’s going to be your undoing, you know.”

“I know,” I nodded contritely.  “I’m sorry… I’ll try harder…”

“Mmm,” he grinned thoughtfully.  “Will you, now?”

I nodded again, gazing up at him with my best good-little-girl smile.  “Yes, Tom.  I will.”

“Well then,” he rose up on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head and casting it aside before pushing his shorts down and off as well.  His cock stood proud, parallel with his stomach; a perfect pearl of milky white appeared at the tip as he closed his fingers around his shaft, one long, slow stroke.  “Let’s see, shall we?”  He reached to turn me carefully onto my side, propping the pillows beneath my head.  His left hand caught the back of my neck as his right guided his leaking crown to my lips.  “Let that wicked little mouth be _my_ undoing…”

I opened to him eagerly, moaning softly as he pushed against my tongue.  The salty sweet tang of him flowed over my palate, and I shivered in bliss.  His left hand continued to guide and support my head, but his right reached up to my own bound wrists, his fingers threading through mine; I clutched them gratefully.  Over and over, he surged carefully, every pump of his hips controlled and calculated.  I hollowed my cheeks to make him groan, fluttered my tongue against the thick ridges and veins to make him gasp, and swallowed around him as he slipped into my throat to make him grunt my name, soft and urgent. 

He would fuck my mouth deeply for several thrusts before pulling back to feel my lips work hungrily over his sensitive head.  Then he would slide forward once more to repeat the pattern, again and again, until I could see shining lines of perspiration trickling down his skin.  Using what little leverage I had, I bobbed my head, working the muscles of my mouth and throat with determined vigor.  “Oh, Michelle,” he rasped, surprised.  “Fucking hell… _Christ_ … that feels good…”  His hand abandoned mine to grip the base of his cock, and I knew he was close. I fixed my eyes on his, moaning softly, beckoning him towards his release with every teasing flutter of my lashes.  “Oh, God, Michelle…”  His movement stuttered, his rhythm hitching erratically.  “Oh, fuck… swallow me, love… dear God, yes… _yes_ … ** _FUCK_** …!”  I angled my head ever so slightly, flattening my tongue and relaxing my throat.  It made it easier to take when he flowed into me in pulsing spurts of thick, hot fluid, and I danced my tongue over his flagging length as I swallowed him down. 

His fingers found the quick-release of the knot he’d fashioned; with one smooth yank, I was free.  He pulled me into his embrace, and I screeched in delighted surprise as two long fingers drove home inside me.  His lips plundered mine, kissing me roughly until my head fell back on my neck, my lungs desperately heaving for air.  “God, I love tasting my come in your mouth,” he growled, his hand leaving me to stroke himself back to full erection.  I could only cling to him as he pulled me into his lap, guiding my legs around his waist.  He impaled me with a shuddering groan of desire before claiming my mouth once more.

We twisted and writhed in each other’s arms, the air filling with the delicious sounds of skin against skin and the scent of orchid and amber and clean, oaky sweat.  I fisted my hands in his hair as he devoured my lips and tongue; he yanked at mine until I offered him my throat as well.  And at the familiar feeling of his teeth sinking into my flesh, his mouth sucking heat to the surface, the knot at the center of my trembling core began to unfurl, clenching my walls around him until he bucked violently beneath me. 

“Tell me, Michelle,” he gasped raggedly.  “Now… Jesus… tell me…”

I sobbed the words over and over as the freefall began, clawing his back as wave after wave of electric heat plunged me deeper and deeper into my own sensory overload.  “I’m yours, Tom.. oh, God… I’m yours…”

Tom was still on his knees in the center of the mattress when I blinked open my lids once more, still holding my body tightly to his, his face buried between my breasts.  I lifted his head gently, smiling into his sensation-drunk eyes, kissing his slack but responsive lips.  He grunted softly as I eased off of his lap, and I coaxed him beneath the covers with me, wrapping myself around him as he cocooned us in pillows and soft linen.  I reached past him for the water on the bedside table, shivering a little when I saw the manuscript sitting closed beside it.  “I take it you finished it,” I mused quietly, taking a few sips before offering the bottle to him.

He nodded, taking several deep swallows of his own.  “Just after four.”

He tightened his arm around my shoulders as I snuggled closer against his chest.  “Did you… like it?” I asked shyly.

“Oh, Michelle,” his smile was awestruck, reverent.  “I absolutely loved it.”

I couldn’t help but bounce up against the pillows, the entire bed rocking beneath my enthusiasm.  “You did?”  I sounded like a child whose first watercolor picture had just been magneted to the fridge, and I didn’t care.  “Really?  You’re not just saying that…”

“Darling,” he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear.  “I am not just saying that.  I honestly,” he kissed my forehead.  “Absolutely,” another kiss to the tip of my nose. “Loved it,” his lips caressed mine, and I melted into his arms.

But only for a moment. 

“Are you sure you aren’t just saying that?” I bounded up again as he laughed.  “Because… some of that stuff… I know it must have been hard to read.  I mean, of course it was hard to read… my God, it was hard to write.  And you can be honest with me, you know.  I can take it.  If there are parts that don’t flow… that don’t work… hell, if the whole thing is just a big bloody mess… I’d rather know than not, you know?  So don’t feel like you have to coddle me or patronize me… I’ve been doing this sort of thing for a while…”

“My babbling little idiot,” he teased, taking, my face in his hands and stopping my words with the warmth of his lips.  And when my mouth fell open again after he released me, he covered it playfully with his hand.  “Michelle Alannah O’Shea Hiddleston, listen to your husband.”  I exhaled a muffled squeak into his palm; he tightened his grip ever so slightly.  “I loved this book.  I would love this book, no matter what.  Even if I wasn’t part of the story.  Even if I’d never met you… had no idea who you were.  I would love this book.  I would love the woman that it’s about.  So it’s a damn good thing I married her already.”  His eyes searched mine for signs of argument before releasing me.

“Really?”  My tone no longer doubting, a hint of triumph in my smile.  “You liked it.”

He nodded, his grin peacefully happy.  “I loved it.”  He caressed my cheek.  “You’ve no idea.  Such an amazing gift… to be invited inside the mind of the woman I love.  To hear the thoughts that lie beneath the things she says, the things she does.  To understand on a wholly new and intimate level why she feels what she feels, why she wants the things she wants, why she needs the things she needs.  And to be told in such a way that _I’m_ what she wants… what she needs… what she loves… what she believes she cannot live without?”  His smile widened.  “And that’s just _my_ reading it, love.  To know that this is what you have to say, to the entire world?”  He pulled me close, kissed my lips again.  “Such an amazing gift…”

I smiled even wider before bouncing once again into his arms.  “You liked it,” I giggled as he pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

“I liked it,” he repeated, tugging gently on my hair.

I cuddled into his chest, nuzzling the muscle above his heart.  “Now the real question: do you think anyone _else_ is going to like it?”

“Eh,” Tom shrugged, stroking his thumb up and down my arm.  “Probably not…”

“You ass,” I giggled, biting down on his nipple.

“Ow!” He swatted my backside, squirming a little beneath me.  “Of course!   Anyone who reads it, love.  They’re all going to like it… love it… beg for more…”

“You really think so?” I lifted my head, my gaze sincere.  “You don’t think people are going to find it… trite?  Neurotic?  Repetitive?  Pedantic?”

He cocked his head at me quizzically.  “Are you any of those things?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged honestly.  “Sometimes…”

“All right.”  He sat up a bit, fluffing the pillow behind his head.  “Granted.  But sometimes, you’re also bold.  Brave.  Smart.  Sexy as hell.”  His tone softened.  “You’re fragile.  You’re tender.  And in these pages,” he snagged the manuscript from the nightstand.  “You’re open.  And honest. Through all of it.”  He cocked his right eyebrow.  “You stand naked in Times Square, Michelle.  And the view?”  He let his tongue play briefly at the corner of his mouth.  “Is really fucking hot.”

I shifted my body, laying more fully across him, and threaded my fingers into his hair.  “I love you,” I murmured softly.

“I love you, too, beautiful girl.”

I leaned in as he grinned, teasing my lips over his until he pulled them flush, parting them with his tongue, tasting and teasing until I collapsed breathless against him.  “There’s just one more thing,” I said through a yawn, laughing a little as he groaned dramatically. 

“What else could there possibly be, sweet?”

I quirked my mouth in mild frustration.  “The damn thing needs a title, and I have no clue what to call it.”

Slowly, his face lit up, as if struck by genius inspiration.  He began flipping through the last few pages, his eyes scanning line after line until he found what he was looking for.  He held the binder out to me, tapping the spot he wanted me to read.

“I know exactly what to call it…”


	41. Chapter 41

There isn’t a writer anywhere worth her salt that doesn’t ask herself, at least once: why the fuck would anyone want to read anything I have to write?

Writing is hard enough as it is.  There’s spelling and punctuation, mechanics and cadence, worry about repetition in theme and in syntax.  There’s “Did I already mention that?” and “Is that really how you spell that?” and “Is that even a word?”  There’s “Does this make me sound stupid?” “Does this make me sound smart?”  “Does this make me sound like I think I’m smart?”  “Does this look right?”  “Does this sound right?”  “Did I use enough words?”  “Did I use too many words?”

We haven’t even touched on content yet.  Add to all of that finding an audience, capturing their attention, keeping it…  My head hurts just thinking about it.

Sadly, I don’t have much of a choice.  Oh, I could pursue work in plenty of other fields.  I could teach. I could edit.  I could go back to school and learn to do any number of things.  I could opt for a leisurely life of following my wonderfully amazing, sexy, successful husband from location to location and not work on a damn thing except making him happy.  It wouldn’t matter.  At the end of the day, I’d still be tapping at a keyboard, scribbling in a spiral notebook, jotting notes on napkins and other scraps of paper. 

I don’t write because I want to. 

I write because I have to.

I was the little girl with the diary.  You remember, the ones with the cardboard covers wrapped in what was essentially shelf paper. Tiny little books adorned with little gold locks that wouldn’t keep out anything with a little determination and a pair of opposable thumbs.  Scrawling letters in crayon, often accompanied by pictures of flowers and rainbows and sun shining on trees with board swings hanging from the lowest branch.  By junior high it was spiral notebook after spiral notebook.  Love letters to teen idols I’d never dare send, musings about teachers, and school friends, and boys… oh, yes, about boys.  High school was the leather bound journal, a mature woman’s collection of thoughts about her parents’ opinions of after school jobs, of car ownership.  How said opinions were hampering this intellectual free spirit.  I mean, really -  just exactly how was I supposed to change the world from the fifth-row seat of a bus?  And more about boys.  Most things I wrote, I kept to myself.  And then, all of a sudden, I didn’t want to keep it to myself anymore.

But why the fuck would anyone want to read anything I have to write?

I used to think it was because I’m a brain.  Not to brag, but I really am a smart girl.  I could list dozens of reasons why people should listen to me.  I always got high marks in school, made the honor roll, excelled in college prep classes.  I scored very well on my SAT’s and AP’s, to the point where more than one guidance counselor raised an eyebrow at my choice of degree plan (“Not pre-med? Pre-law?”).  But, as I said before… writer.And shouldn’t I be?  Above average intelligence, analytical skills, an ability to listen, to learn and explain.  The perfect combination of talent and duty, right?

Chapel Hill showed me quickly enough that I wasn’t nearly the brain that I thought I was.  Neutrality lies at the heart of journalism.  A mantra of “show, don’t tell – let your reader decide”.It fit like an itchy sweater.  I did enough of it to score well in my classes, but I never really felt that any of my work was anything but hollow.  I started to believe that keeping my opinion to myself somehow did my reader a disservice; like I was holding back a viewpoint they may not have considered, or denying them the strength and confidence that comes from hearing their feelings were shared by someone else.

So… maybe not so much a brain as a voice…

Oh, I found my voice.  And I shouted it from the rooftops.  I built my academic career and early professional success on it.  Take Back the Night rallies, arts in education, Southern hospitality versus Southern irrationality.Some called me a firecracker.  Others labeled me a firestarter.  All of them were reading, and that’s all that mattered.  My voice, joining with other voices, speaking for other voices. It was _right_ ; I liked it.  I was good at it, and I was going to do it for the rest of my life.

And then my life disappeared.  Inch by bitter inch.  And the voice disappeared along with it.

It was the Nikon that brought me back to the page.  The camera.The eye.  I’d lost the song that I was singing, but I could still see the world that drifted around me.  The shapes and the colors, the voices, the venues.  I couldn’t sing anymore but I could still feel the beat.  And I could tell.  Descriptions of places and people and things, records of questions and answers and stories.  It kept my pen moving, my fingers typing, it paid the bills.  I told myself it was temporary, some quiet time spent in the breakdown lane, changing the flat.  I never realized that I was building my future in the ditch on the side of the road.

Until Tom.

To this day, I have no idea why he looked at me twice.  But he did.

And he found me.

And with him, I’ve found myself.

The piece that eluded me, the truth that hid from me: the identity that was mine all along, which I never even knew was me.

Brains are made up of facts and figures, logic and reason.  They create for practicality, to solve problems, to find answers.  They appreciate beauty and art and magic on an intellectual level, as the simple distractions that human beings need to keep from collapsing under the weight of their own genius, or lack thereof.  I can understand those things, use them when I need them.  But it’s not what I am.

Voices are made up of drive and purpose, a need to change and influence and effect.  They whisper honey in the ears of those who disagree with them, shout and stomp their feet in the presence of those who do.  The voice’s reward comes from simply speaking, and speaking, and speaking some more.  I thought that was me.  I thought that kind of lofty ambition could carry me forever, hold me and fulfill me, no matter what else happened along the way.  And then, things happened along the way.  Bad things, sad things.  And after they clobbered me and left me bleeding in the dirt, the idea of screaming in the wilderness just didn’t hold the poetic appeal it once had. 

And of all the things I’m not… an eye.  Eyes see the things that are in front of them, unaltered, uninfluenced.  Green is green and red is red, light is light and dark is dark.  To try and say that what you see is anything but what it is,is a lie. It’s just that simple.  Eyes take the world as it is, without any thought as to what it could be, what it should be.  Eyes, quite ironically, often lack vision.  I tried to live my life like that, believing somehow that if I never looked beyond reality to possibility that I would never suffer pain or loss.  At least, not in any way that I was not well and fully equipped to handle. 

Neither a brain, nor a voice.  Not even an eye.

I’m a heart.

I’m a tightly wound mass of vessels and chambers, hollow in the center of my life, filled by the things that flow into me from points beyond myself, that make me more than the sum of my parts.

Pieces of me were filled by a woman who could sing and could paint, could sculpt, and loved to dance.A woman who could couple passion and practicality as if they were age-old bedfellows.A woman who always found the light in the darkness, the purpose in the pain, the port in the storm, the sun beyond the rain.

Pieces of me were filled by a man who lived for duty and honor, and for the love of that woman.  Filled with the lessons he taught, in his first confident and commanding, then later bent and broken, way.  The lesson of take what’s yours, but give in equal measure.  The lesson that it’s okay to lose who you are, as long as you remember who you were.  And most importantly, the lesson that it’s okay to let someone else be the one who brings you home.  

And no one has ever filled me the way that Tom has.  He’s filled me with love, and lust for life, and the ability to get excited over just about anything.  Filled me with the absolute, unflagging confidence that what we are is what we were always meant to be: together, unapologetic, unashamed; the give and the take, the top and the bottom.

He learned who I was.  He knows who I am.  And he always, always brings me home.

So that’s me.  Now, why the fuck do you want to read anything that I have to write?

Maybe you’re here because you’re a Carolina belle yourself, and good Southern girls always stick together, right?  At least until one of us wears white shoes after Labor Day and then?  Well, honey, she shoulda known bettah…

(Carolina belles, I say that tongue-in-cheek. It takes all shapes and sizes, and you are responsible for more than a little beauty in the world.  Heads high ladies, and remember, we Southern girls never sweat.  We glisten.)

Maybe you’re here because you saw that amazingly hilarious interview on the Graham Norton Show.  I can honestly say that I have never been more petrified to do anything in my life, and I have never had more fun in front of a camera.  Except maybe that one night in Toronto when Tom just had to try his hand at directing… but that’s another story. 

I let Graham keep that bustier and blindfold, by the way.

More than likely, you’re here because of Tom.  And that’s okay.  Like I said before, it’s as much his story as it is mine.  Maybe you were hoping to discover if the man actually lives up to the myth; if he’s as genuinely kind-hearted and generous and funny and amazing as he seems to be.  I hope I’ve been able to assure you that he is; all that, so much more.  Maybe you were hoping to learn a little something about the woman he chose, so you could decide whether to ship us with all your heart or to silently plot my demise from afar.  Maybe you just wanted a tawdry tale or two to think about the next time you’re dozing in bed, _Avengers_ on the television, or maybe _The Love Book_ whispering through your earbuds.  Whatever the reason, if Tom is why you came, know that it’s all right with me.  Keep him in your fantasies; he’s a good man to fantasize about.  He works hard to be that man.  He deserves all the love and adoration the world can pour out upon him.

If I could have one wish, though, it would be this: I hope that at least one of you picked up this story because you needed it to be okay to have a little kink in your life.  Don’t misunderstand; I don’t fancy myself Betty Friedan in garter belt and thigh highs.  Some editors have told me I’m doing a great service for women’s evolving sexual identities.  Other swear I’m about to set feminism back to the drawing board. 

I’m not trying to do either.  I sat down in front of my keyboard one day, and I started telling my story.  Somebody told me it was a story worth telling, worth sharing.  I’m a writer, it’s what I do. 

So this is my story.

This is me, this is my husband, this is our life, this is us.  It’s safe.  It’s sane.  It’s consensual.  It’s beautiful.

You could ask any number of the good Christian women I grew up around, and they’d be happy to tell you: it ain’t Cinderella.  I’m out way past midnight.  My pumpkin is a sleek, black Jag that purrs when it idles and roars when you rev it.  My castle is a curtained bed and my glass slipper is a set of leather cuffs.

My happily ever after might not look like anybody else’s.

But I have my Prince Charming.

And he has my heart.

 

_The Beginning…_


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